Eir's Child
by assassinqueen13
Summary: Whether it was the work of the Gods, or chance, Bjorn Ironside ended up in Devona's care. A lone hunter who prefers peace and quiet to the warring world below the mountain. Despite her cold facade, she has the kindness of Eir, Norse goddess of healing, in her heart. But there is a mystery surrounding her and Bjorn is eager to discover what has kept her in hiding for over two years.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Okay, here's the situation people. There is not enough Bjorn fan fiction on the internet and it really makes me sad. If you are also a Bjorn fan than you probably know what I'm talking about! That's why I finally decided to post this for all of your enjoyment. So, I hope you like it as much as I have had fun writing it. And since this is my first posting, I would like any constructive criticism you may have. **

**Also, there will be smut but you have to be patient ;) _**

 **IMPORTANT CANON CHANGE [Torunn, Bjorn's first girlfriend, died in Mercia in the battle against Burgred's Army. Since this is an BjornxOC story I had to get rid of her before she could have his baby :(. So if you are wondering why he is on a mountain somewhere in North Norway, he sailed back home with a small fleet of ships and ended up disappearing from Kattegat a few weeks later]**

 **Everything that happened during this time will be revealed... now.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC.**

Chapter 1: Cold Huntress

 _So much snow_ , the stag noted, finding it difficult to see through the sheets of white flakes. The roaring wind bit and stabbed at his coat, freezing him to the bone. When was the last time such a blizzard attacked the mountain? Snow piling to the knees and by the looks of it, will increase before the sun rises the next morning. Frost and ice clinged to the trees for their lives, fearing the fierce wind and its powerful force. Whipping powder and chill about for the fun of it.

If he were not so well equipped to manage such freezing conditions, he would surely perish. He had survived many blizzards before and this one was hardly the worst one he had faced. Pushing aside his concerns, he bent his head down to a slightly covered patch of grass and roots. He dug the snow aside till he found what he was searching for. His stomach gurgled at the sight of food. This tiny serving would have to be enough for now, until he could go back down the mountain.

Just as his teeth parted to munch on the dismal meal, he heard a sharp popping sound to his left. No, it wasn't really that kind of noise. But there was no other word to describe it. A sharp arrow pierced through his hide, through layers of muscle and sinew, slipping between his ribs. The tip punctured both his left lung and heart, the shot was clean and true, there was no way he could have survived for more than a second.

His legs gave out first, his entire body collapsing into the snow. He was confused, where had the shot come from? There shouldn't be any hunters this high up, and yet the projectile in his side suggested otherwise. But the deer never received an answer, he was dead long before the bowman appeared to retrieve the kill.

A figure, clad in white furs so as to blend in with the surrounding storm, marched up the hill towards the deer carcass. The murder weapon grasped tightly in hand, another arrow already knocked onto the string in case another animal appeared. Two forest green eyes scanned through the veil of falling snow in search of predators after an easy meal. Especially the wild wolves of the mountains, but there appeared to be no tracks of the canines for miles but that meant little to an experienced hunter. Those beasts could be only a few dozen feet away and there would be no way of knowing in this blizzard. Even when the hunter had reached the dead stag, those eyes never stopped searching.

The wind became curious as to the identity of this human. Such skill, a mastery of stealth to a point where even seasoned animals such as the stag could not smell or even sense the danger it possessed with that bow. So it sent a decently powerful gale at the face of the human, and the hood of the white cloak was torn off the hunter's head.

"Shit," a harsh yet high-pitched voice cursed to the air around her. Soft brown hair flew about her even in the confines of the ponytail. Her skin was flushed red for the cold but otherwise a pale ivory base. The wind giggled at the sight of her, recognizing this hunteress in that very moment.

Devona.

She had been living on this mountain for a little over two years. A crazy thing to do by herself, considering the terrible winters and brief summers. Food was scarce year round, even the animals who settled here found it hard to survive each day. And for a human, it was much worse. For they could not feast on grass or even half of the plants rabbits, squirrels, and bears eat during the summer months. Come winter, most of the wildlife flee down to the valley before they were trapped by the endless snowstorms that ravaged the higher peaks.

Yet she remains, surviving. Only the Gods know exactly how. Every human hunter who came before her usually ran at the first signs of snow. If not, they were perished by wolves, frostbite, or falling through ice lakes into the water below. So what was her secret?

Devona did not know or care what the wind was wondering about, yanking her hood back over the crown of her head. She disarmed her weapon, returning the arrow back to her quiver then slipping the bow over her head and arm till it was secure round her body. She knelt down beside the carcass and placed her gloved hand on the neck of the stag.

"Thank you my friend, your sacrifice will not be in vain," she whispered so only the stag could hear her gratitude. In one harsh motion, she pulled out the arrow embedded into the animal's side. The resulting crunching sound was revolting and she cringed away from the animal, tears stinging behind her eyelids. Death of any creature should not be easy to take, but for her, it was a necessity. No matter how much she wished it wasn't.

"This never gets easier," she said, then puckered her lips to whistle. A high pitched keen echoed through the snow. Devona's pitch changed several times, imitating the sound of a bird call. A signal for something to come to her precise location.

About 40 meters south, a chestnut mare, laden with hunting supplies and tools perked her head towards the sound. She recognized the arrangement of notes and understood that it was time to move. Her mistress must have been done with her hunting business and now she must carry the load back to their home. Hopefully this was the last of it, the mare was unsure how much more of this constant cold and snow she could handle.

Setting off into a gallop, the horse struggled setting her hooves into the powdered ground but in about two and a half minutes, Devona could see her running through the blizzard. A small, grateful smile formed on her lips and she rushed forward to meet the mare.

"Freydis, good girl!" Devona hugged Freydis round her neck, petting her muzzle with the most loving affection she had in her. "We'll be home soon, I just need one last favor of you." She turned back towards the stag and with both hands secured around his front and back legs, Devona hoisted him off the ground, gritting her teeth under the strain of such a heavy animal.

Freydis did not envy her, humans were much weaker than the trained pack horse. If the need ever arose, the mare could carry almost five hundred pounds of weight on her back and drag a couple hundred more. Her back was broad and nothing but pure muscle. If her former master had been wise in the breeding of horses, he would have recognized the value a horse like Freydis. He was more concerned with his white stallions and speckled war horses than her. Not Devona though, she saw in Freydis what everyone else couldn't and the Gods were kind to bring them together.

After a minute or so of struggle, Devona finally managed to perch the stag onto Freydis' back, tying it securely to the saddle with its front and back legs on either side of the horse.

"When we return home, I'll make sure your stable is spotless, and I'll treat you with the last of the carrots. I know how much you like them, right girl?" The mare shook out her mane in response, bucking her head at the sound of carrots. Freydis was obviously pleased to hear that all these weeks of hunting up and down the mountain would end on a good note. Or at least it should have been.

 _AAAWOOOO!_ A trail of howls broke the moment and both hunter and steed froze. Wolves had begun a hunt. Devona muttered something under the roar of the wind, frantically slipping her bow from her back. Her evergreen eyes scanned the surrounding forest, watching for any sign of movement that could indicate where the dogs were coming from. Another howl echoed its source most likely coming from the east, at least a quarter mile away. It was impossible to tell if the pack was heading for her or not. The first sign of the wolves seemed to be generally close by, perhaps a couple dozen yards. Maybe the alpha signaled more wolves to come to his location, that would make sense. Devona tried to recall while still listening for more howling how many wolves there might be.

"Four, five, six, seven most likely and more coming this way," she observed, taking the spare throwing axe from Freydis' pack and holstering it if the predators tried getting too close. Freydis snorted and whinnied in panic, shifting her weight about as if she was eager to make a run for it. "I know girl, but we can handle a couple of dogs right?"

"GAAHHH!" someone cried into the night, a disturbingly human sound. Devona's eyes flicked to the direction of the shouting, east by northeast to be precise. Whoever made that noise was higher up the mountain, and it sounded like they were in pain. Wolves barked and snarled at the intruder, the battle was fierce and the stranger must have been outnumbered eight-to-one by now.

Even though Devona now knew that the hunt was not aiming for her, the troubled feeling in the pit of her stomach still lingered. She could get on her horse right now and gallop all the way back home to safety and leave this poor soul to die. He probably deserved it anyway, who knows how many innocent people he has killed in the name of glory. Let the Gods decide his fate. Whether to be savaged by wolves or to die of frostbite it did not matter.

She mounted her horse, bow secure in one hand and despite all her common sense, Devona kicked Freydis towards the wolf pack and the Northern warrior who was quite nearly dead.

 **I know, I know, Bjorn hasn't been seen yet. But he will be in Chapter 2!**

 **Please review and give me your thoughts.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: Hey there! Thanks to those who have already started following my story. You guys make me so happy :)! Bjorn is finally here so enjoy!**

Chapter 2: Crimson Snow

Bjorn toppled, face first, into the snow. Clutching his stomach wound to hold back the blood flow. His hands were covered in crimson, soaking through his clothes and dripping onto the frozen ground.

The alpha wolf and what was left of his pack circled the Viking Prince, preparing for their last attack. Four of their friends laid dead, their throats slit open by a knife in Bjorn's hands. The largest of the pack, a speckled gray wolf, growls viciously at him.

It had been a long time since such a warrior had come into their territory, and the alpha needed to avenge his fallen comrades. He snarled at Bjorn, curling his hind quarters ready to pounce. They locked eyes with each other, sky blue and warm gold holding the other in a silent battle for dominance. Neither of them dared to blink in case their enemy tried to surprise him.

Bjorn could not survive it if the wolves tried to ambush him. One of the fallen wolves had bitten his abdomen and two others scratched his back with their feral claws. The speckled alpha had managed to take a deep bite out of his sword arm as well, making it very difficult to keep his weapon up. If the extreme blood loss wasn't enough, every time he tried to move his leg to stand, a sharp unforgiving pain shot from his shin all the way up his body. He must have cracked the bone somehow because there was no obvious wound there. Either way, Bjorn could not see any way to get out of this. The pack had circled around him, stalking closer and closer, waiting for the final command to attack.

"So, this is how I'm fated to die?" he whispered so only the Gods could here. There was no honor in this, but maybe he didn't deserve to die in battle. After all he had been through... allowed to happen. This death is what he deserved.

Bjorn lowered his eyes, staring at the snow staining red with his blood. He lost his desire to live before he even wandered onto this mountain. It was time to let go now.

His eyes slammed shut as he waited for death to release him from this world.

"HYAAAH," a harsh cry rushed in from his right. The familiar sound of horse hooves clopped towards him at a ridiculously fast pace. A bow string snapped once, twice, each arrow must have hit their mark for the pitiful yelps the wolves released.

Bjorn looked up. A figure clad in white atop a chestnut horse held a weathered bow in hand and was shooting arrows with inhuman speed. Each arrow landed in the hide of a wolf, despite its steed running about and the frightened movements of the dogs.

The alpha, unlike his soldiers, stood his ground and charged at the new assailant. The stranger took a throwing axe strapped to the saddle and sent it swirling across the distance until it embedded securely into the shoulder of the white speckled wolf. Only four wolves were left standing and they immediately fled the scene once they saw their master fall.

The white figure jumped off the horse and ran straight towards him, clutching a saddlebag that made a slight jingling noise with each step. Bjorn tried to stay upright, but his adrenaline was weakening and the vicious sting of the bites and scratches were becoming more prominent every second. And with the state of his leg, it was a miracle he was even conscious right now. His savior may have stopped the wolves from killing him quickly, but the odds of survival were very slim.

"Are you a fucking idiot? Or do you just have a death wish?" a cold, feminine voice questioned him from underneath a white fur-lined hood. Bjorn could not see her face clearly, his vision blurring around the edges for the exhaustion and pain.

"Who-" he winced at the sudden burst of agony from his stomach wound, "who are you?"

"The idiot who just saved your ass from being eaten by wolves," she said, removing her gloves so her fingers could move quicker to appraise the injuries.

"Just leave," Bjorn pleaded, "let me die." His begging was weak, voice cracking so the words did not sound like they were coming from a twenty-year old man. He wrenched his body away from her, wishing she would just stop.

"Shut up." She placed a surprisingly warm hand against his frozen cheek, forcing him to look at her. Even though most of her features were out of focus, it was impossible not to notice her evergreen eyes. It reminded him of the woods round his family farm in deep summer with flecks of brown and gold spiking outwards. He wasn't sure he had ever seen such eyes before. "Answer me dammit!"

The Prince was dragged back into the present, slowly realizing he missed whatever question she asked, "What?"

"Can you stand on your own?" He shook his head no and she cursed Odin's name in response. Rummaging through her satchel, she pulled out a square linen cloth and bandages. With expert hands, the stranger managed to make a rudimentary solution for his abdomen and prayed to Eir, goddess of healing, that the other injuries were not as bad as this one. "Give me your arm!"

"It's useless, leave me to my fate woman!"

His demands for suicide fell on deaf ears, "Listen to me you bastard!" This time she smacked him to get his attention. "I do not care about what you or fate desires right now. I am here, and if you believe your life has been decided by the Gods than my rescue was also planned and therefore Odin does not wish you dead yet." She spoke of the Gods with no reverence in her tone and Bjorn was sure he heard a slight chuckle in her voice when she mentioned fate. Either way, this woman was only saying these things to try and keep him breathing. "So, I am going to do what I can to save you. Take my arm right now, and lean on me." There was no room for debate, considering how she had already draped his free arm across her neck and began lifting all 190 lbs of him. Her muscles were already burning from trying to move dead weight, legs shaking with the strain of standing with a Northmen hanging on her right side.

Bjorn hissed and growled against the pain, his good leg planting itself to the ground and standing with her. He could feel the scratches along his back tearing apart and they burned with the warnings of infection.

"Glad you came to your senses." She whistled for her horse and the mare trotted to her side so there was no need to make him walk a distance. With a flick of her hunting knife, she sliced through the tethers of rope that kept her dead stag in place and the carcass rolled off and tumbled into the snow. It took several agonizing moments to push Bjorn onto the horse and the stranger made a few not so polite comments about his weight and how inconvenient his broken leg was. He's not entirely sure how she managed to seat him upright on the beast, but thanked the Gods that he would not have to stand again for a while.

"Lay forward, hug Freydis' neck so you won't fall off by accident." Bjorn assumed that Freydis was the name of the horse and followed her instructions.

"What about you?" There was no more room on the pony's back for her, what with his six foot three inch form taking up most of the space.

"I can walk, you just focus on not bleeding to death," she ordered, gripping his numb hand in her warm fingers. Bjorn felt this strange sensation run from that hand all the way up his arm and to his heart. It was as if her touch was oozing warmth and she was giving some of it to him. He was calm, the burning sting of his wounds subsided, and if it weren't for raging blizzard he may have fallen asleep right there. Even though her skin was rough round the joints and her grip was not meant to be comforting, he could not think of a time where he had been more at peace.

"Your hand feels nice," he complimented, allowing his head to drop and rest comfortably against the horse's body.

Devona did not know how to take that, eyeing him curiously and concluding he must have been delirious from blood loss. She clicked her tongue twice and pulled on the reins to guide Freydis back down the hills. The Northman passed out after some minutes, still clutching her hand albeit weakly.

It took Devona a little over two and half hours to get back to her cabin on foot. She took the most direct route she could, forcing herself and Freydis through deep snow drifts and dense patches of trees she normally would have avoided if she wasn't chasing time. There was no way of knowing how much blood he lost and was still losing at this rate. Every couple of minutes, Devona checked his pulse and breathing noting how they both were growing weaker. Her cursing was only audible to her, making no difference in her anxiety levels at this point.

"I always have to be the damn hero, don't I," Devona declared to herself. Over the past two years of living completely on her own, she had grown accustomed to talking without ever getting an answer. She found that any issue can be solved if you just talk it out with no one interrupting your thoughts with opinions of their own.

"What kind of idiot walks through a snowstorm with only a fur coat, a sword, and no food whatsoever?" she wondered, asking herself the question that was nagging at her mind since she found the poor bastard. "Maybe he does have a death wish. Or perhaps the wolves raided his campsite and he abandoned his supplies. But that still doesn't explain why he's wearing such thin clothing."

She was then distracted by the sight of her cabin, sitting lonely in the middle of a clearing pressed against a sheer rock face. It was a small log home, big enough for two or three people to live comfortably. And since chimneys were not common in Norwegian architecture, Devone clumsily constructed one out of rock that shot straight up from her thatched roof. Heavy blankets of snow concealed it from sight, blocking windows from view.

Devona ushered Freydis forward and led the pack horse into the small makeshift stable around the left side of the house. She tied the reins to a secure pillar, then set to work on removing the Northman from her saddle.

Bjorn was thankfully still alive and coherent enough to help Devona as she eased his body back to the ground. His stomach wound had bled through the bandages and the sudden motion tore at the edges of injury and he bit back a groan.

"Come on you big lout, we're almost there," she reminded, barely managing to support his body weight so he would not fall.

Devona fought against muscle exhaustion and the freezing cold to the door of her cabin. Her boots shoving snow aside, slipping on the icy ground underneath with every few steps. Once she managed to kick the door open and she was safely indoors and out of the blizzard, Devona carried him through her grim dining room and around the partition wall to her bed. The only free, comfortable space in the entire cabin. There was no time to start a fire to push back the frozen darkness, so Devona had to work by instinct alone. She tore and slashed at this clothing with the knife so she had complete access to his wounds.

Bjorn laid back on the fur blankets, ignoring the furious cursing of his savior. He lost all sense of time after that, fading in and out of consciousness by the sound of her voice.

"These gashes are already infected, maybe I can counteract it with this medicine and maybe a hot poultice along the injury," she said.

He could feel her touch all over his upper body, that warm, peaceful sensation sinking into his skin and it helped him relax. His breathing was steady and strong, a good sign. Bjorn wasn't sure how long she tended to the bleeding wounds, but he became painfully aware when she started moving his broken leg about.

It was a spiral fracture. The bone had snapped in a circular motion, a fairly clean break considering the circumstances. But resetting it was going to take time and the healing process would take almost two months of his life. Devona rolled her eyes to the ceiling, not fond of the idea that this warrior was going to be staying with her for that long.

The more pressing issue was the Bjorn was trying to fight against the treatment now, squirming away from her despite his range of motion being very minimal in his condition.

"Hold still," she demanded, pinning him with her forearm, "you'll reopen those gashes at this rate. Not to mention the extra damage you are putting on your leg." Bjorn could barely hear her, pushing back so that this woman would stop. Despite his weakness, he was putting up quite a fight.

Devona was no weakling, but even she was having trouble restraining him. This Northman was all muscle. In any other situation, she was sure he would have dominated her by now and there positions would be reversed.

"Hey!" she yelped when he lifted his arm to backhand her face, "I'm trying to help you remember?"

Bjorn resisted for about ten more seconds before his body couldn't take the agony anymore and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 **If you have any critiques you'd like to share please do! I love getting constructive feedback. See you soon with Chapter 3.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: The song Devona is singing is called Duivelspack. It is actually a song in the _Vikings_ TV show. Look it up if you want to listen to it. **

**Enjoy! Please leave nice comments and constructive criticism in the Review section!**

Chapter 3: Nameless

Bjorn was forced from his rest by a foul smell coming from the next room. It was an offensive odor of rotting meat and burned herbs. Was someone cooking? And if so, where did it go wrong?

He opened his ice blue eyes very carefully in case he was suddenly face to face with the stench and its creator. Scanning the small bedroom was a quick task for there was not much in it. There was a thin wall standing between him and what he presumed was the kitchen and dining area, a stiff wooden chair sat in the corner with a gray white fur cloak hanging off the back, a small side table next to the chair, and the bed he lay in was made for two with plush fur blankets and pillows decorating it. Other than that, there was nothing notably special about this space.

 _Wait, how did I get here?_ he wondered, remembering the wolf attack, almost getting killed, and then there was a chestnut horse. Everything after that was a blur of pain and white.

 _There was a rider… and then she began shouting at me. But where is she now?_ Besides that white cloak, there was no sign of her. He could hear no other sound than his own breathing and a crackling fire. No footsteps whatsoever. For the first time in his entire life, Bjorn was completely alone.

"Is anyone there?" he called, not expecting anyone to answer but hoping for it nonetheless. Still no reply. The silence was disconcerting, he could not remember a time where he was by himself for longer than a few minutes. There was always someone around whether it be his parents, his sister before she passed, or servants. At least one human being to talk to or just sit next to so they could push away the loneliness lurking round the edges.

He attempted to move his broken and battered body out of the bed, but every muscle and nerve beneath his skin was numb. No limb was responding to his commands, he could not even wiggle a finger no matter how hard he tried. It felt like he was completely paralyzed, but there was still some sensation there. He knew he was touching the fur blankets with his fingers, could feel the fabric of his unfamilialr clothes against his bare skin, and the slight chill lingering in the room rose the hairs on his arms giving him goosebumps. And yet he was incapable of twitching his pinkie even a little!

Bjorn grit his teeth with the effort but he knew that no amount of struggling was going to help him. He did not like feeling this helpless. It was frustrating and frightening all at once.

In order to keep his head, he convinced himself that this paralysis was only temporary. Some herb or potion was causing it and once the effects wore off he would be able to stand again and escape this place. He would need a walking stick to hold his weight though since only one leg was intact. Maybe whoever owned this cabin left behind a suitable tool for the job. Or a weapon long enough for him to use as a crutch. He could survive without food for a while, water on the other hand was going to be a problem. But if he melted the snow outside in that fire in some pot, the water left behind would be pure enough for consumption.

"Ask veit ek standa, heitir Yggdrasill," a gentle but cold voice sang outside the house. Bjorn recognized the song, his mother used to sing it all the time. The poem was about the tree of life and it always reminded him of Norway whenever he was away on raids. The voice sounded strangely familiar though. As if he was remembering it from a dream. "Hàr baomr, ausinn hvita auri; paoan koma doggvar, paers î dala falla, stendr ae yfir, graenn, Uroar brunni." The singer ended the tune on a string of somber notes and that is when he recognized the voice as that of the woman who saved him. She was the one outside the house.

"Hello?" Bjorn shouted louder so he was certain she could hear him. The singing abruptly stopped. "Whoever you are, please reveal yourself. I mean you no harm."

The front door opened and blinding sunlight filled the adjoining room and slipped through the cracks of the partitioning wall. A shadow strolled its way towards him, and in nine long strides, a tall dark-haired woman was standing at the entrance to the bedroom. She was wearing fraying gray/green clothes and old leather boots. His focus immediately locked onto the gorgeous pair of evergreen eyes he remembered. The irises appeared to be swirling in dark green waves, and the mixed gold was far more prominent in the day light.

"Mean me harm, huh? As far as I am concerned, you are no threat to me in this state," she chuckled, twisting a knife in her hand. The tip poking her index finger as she played with it.

She had fair features; a soft sloping nose, young ivory colored skin, and pale pink lips that were twisted into a smile. Even though she appeared to be very thin, he could tell she had strong, lean muscles in her legs and arms. Otherwise it would not have been possible to carry him the way she did. Her brown locks were frizzy and unkempt, held back in the familiar ponytail.

Bjorn was pleasantly surprised at how attractive she was. For a woman who spends all her days in the wilderness, braving the wind and rain, she still had that bright glow of youth to her cheeks. But he was getting far too distracted by her beauty, he had questions that needed to be answered.

Curious as to why she chose those words specifically, he asked, "What's wrong with my body? I can no longer move!"

"When I was stitching your wounds, you kept pushing me away and that only made my job harder," she clarified. "Then after you tried to hit me while I was resetting your broken leg, I decided I needed you more… compliant." Her voice held no compassion, only facts. It was blatantly obvious that she was no longer concerned about his survival, since she had assured its success. Bjorn did not know whether to take her apathy as a good sign or an omen for something worse.

"But don't you worry," she reassured, pointing the knife in his direction, "you'll regain feeling in a little while. I would advise not doing any strenuous activity for a few days yet though, since the bone still hasn't mended itself completely yet."

"Who are you?" His neck craned uncomfortably towards her so he could maintain eye contact with her.

"I am the woman who barely managed to keep you alive after being mauled half to death," she replied, brushing several strands of hair off her face.

He did not appreciate her sarcasm, "What is your name?" She entered the small space and set the dagger on the side table and plopped herself in the free chair with the cloak hanging off the back.

"You do not need to know my name." She pulled on the piece of leather that held her hair back. Thick tresses of tree bark brown fell across her shoulders and over her chest. "Names are pleasantries exchanged between friends and family. We are neither."

"Then what do I call you? I cannot thank someone whose name I do not know," he reasoned, eyeing her curiously.

"Whatever suits your fancy I suppose, it means little to me. You will be gone in a few weeks anyway."

Bjorn was at a loss for what to do next. No one had ever denied him the decency of an introduction before and the fact that she did not want to reveal her name was beyond suspicious. If she was so concerned about keeping her identity secret, why save someone who might be able to identify her? And, why was such a woman living in these desolate mountains to begin with?

He could think of a thousand reasons why someone might not want to be found but none of his theories were going to be of much help at this moment. If she wanted to keep her secrets, very well. But he will not make it easy.

"And what if I decide to call you 'whore'? Would you tell me your real name then?" he wondered, waiting for the inevitable angry outburst and name.

"I've been called worse, so no." The woman laughed, finding something humorous in either his features or his question.

"Am I really so terrible that you refuse to tell me a name. It can be fake and I would not know," he pressed.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with. I have no desire to become close to the likes of **you** ," she snapped, her voice dripping with venom. Her expression was colder than the morning frost, and there was no mercy in her gaze. Very different from how she acted that night she rescued him. She still spoke like she was constantly irritated with someone, but that warm hand proved to him she was trustworthy. Nobody could have such a calming effect on him if they were not kind in some way.

"Then why did you save my life!? You should have just left me to die if that is truly how you feel."

She thought about it for a while, her pupils became glazed as if she was staring at something far away in her mind, "My conscience I suppose." That was not the answer he expected "Once I knew someone was being attacked, I could not just turn around and ignore it. Besides, being eaten is a terrible way to go. No one to bury your bones and no glory for you, right? The Valkyries would not waste their energies on carrying your ass to the Great Hall if you had died that way."

He managed to turn his head away from that mocking expression. The truth in her words hit him hard. There was no hope for him entering Valhalla. But now that death was not a certainty, Bjorn was no longer as eager to end his life. The guilt still weighed heavily on his soul but committing suicide was no longer an option.

Perhaps this was fate's way of being cruel. Letting him live another day with this wretched ache in his chest. A pain that he knew could never be fully healed. Dying would be too easy, a bastard like him was not worthy of joining Odin in his home. To drink beside other valiant and strong warriors who have died honorably generations before him. Bjorn, on the other hand, had allowed the woman he loved onto the battlefield whilst she was carrying his child.

His father was right, he had the will of little girl and deserved to live with his misery. In a moment of weakness he was ready to die, but life clung to him and that is a fitting curse.

Devona noticed his grief-stricken eyes and said, "Unless, that's exactly what you wished for."

Bjorn snapped his attention back to her, "What?"

"At first, you didn't want me to interfere. Saying how fate had decided that that was your moment to pass on. Normally when I stumble upon a wounded warrior, they beg me to give them aid. Moaning and groaning how they will not die such a pointless death. But you," she pointed at him to emphasize her words, "you resisted my help and pleaded with me to leave you behind. Why is that?" She had practically read his mind.

Bjorn forced a joking smile onto his lips, hoping to hide the full truth. It was none of her business why he was so eager to meet death that night, so he responded with, "I refused your assistance because I did not think a woman like you could save me."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow quirked curiously, "Is that so? And yet here you are, breathing only because of my mercy." Devona stood up and stepped towards the edge of the bed, "I should have known this is what I get for helping a Northman. Not even a thank you. Just probing questions to my intentions and identity. Both mean nothing to you." She lifted her right leg and planted her foot two inches from his numb fingers and put all her weight on it. The look she was throwing him was menacing, but not fierce enough to scare. More like a mother who is leering over a child after they made a mistake. The kind of look that every man should dread coming from a woman.

"Thank you," he quickly remedied, finding it extremely difficult not to stare into those mesmerizing eyes. She was like a serpent hypnotizing her prey and Bjorn was defenseless against them.

Her straight, white smile was devilish in shape, "That's much better. After all," she removed her foot from the bed and walked back to the entrance of the room releasing him from her gaze, "I did slave for two weeks to make sure the infection didn't kill you once you stopped bleeding all over the place."

Devona hurried across her living area to the bucket of clear water on the kitchen counter space. She dipped her bloody hands inside and scrubbed till there was no more red stains on her skin. Then, she removed her bulky fur clothes till her favorite green linen shirt and brown leather vest were free. The huntress hung each article carefully along the left wall and then she rushed towards the bubbling cauldron on the fire. Her nose scrunched for the smell and she felt slight pity for the man who was about to eat this disgusting dish.

Even though Devona has lived alone and cooked her own meals for years, her culinary prowess was non-existent at best. She had grown used to the sour and ultimately flavorless foods she must eat to survive. So she never truly saw food as a pleasurable experience. As long as she can stomach it and not throw it up a couple hours later, than that's alright.

Bjorn could no longer see what she was doing, but he could hear her. Her steps were quick and sure, rushing across the other room. Back and forth to the hearth fire and where he presumed that stench was originating. Out of the corner of his eye, he did catch her hands adding several herbs to the pot than stirred the contents with a long wooden spoon. The action was reminiscent of a witch brewing potions, except the witch was replaced with an attractive young woman who could apparently stitch wounds and reset broken limbs. A woman, who was not afraid of blood on her hands, quite handy with a bow, and more secretive than the god of mischief, Loki. His mind was spinning with questions; about his injuries, where he was, and the still unanswered puzzle of her name.

"Two weeks!? How bad was the infection?" he asked, raising his voice loud enough for her to hear.

"Very," she responded bluntly, "I was worried I would have to cut off your leg for a while?"

"My leg?!" Bjorn was sure he had both, but checked again anyway.

Devona popped her head around the corner and giggled, "Kidding, that was easy to fix." She returned to her work, hopefully improving the flavor of that concoction in the cauldron. "It was your stomach wound that had me scared."

"Really?" He was still a little shocked that she would kid about such a thing.

"Yeah," Devona held two bottles of green liquid into the fire light, debating which ingredient to use, "I did everything I could to stop the infection from killing you and thankfully I succeeded." She ultimately decided to use the bottle in her left hand and emptied the contents into the food.

"How did you manage that?"

"Well, it's a lot of boring herbal remedies that you would not find interesting at all," she evaded, scooping meat and broth into a carved wooden bowl from the pot. "Just be glad that you survived it." She came back to Bjorn's side, holding the steaming stew in one hand and a collection of bandages and vials in the other. "Hope you like eating rabbits."

He chuckled nervously, the smell still not appetizing in the slightest, "I am really not that hungry."

"You must eat something, you need to build your strength up," she rationalized, and Bjorn was certain he saw the hint of a smirk on her face. As if there was something funny about this situation.

"What's in it?" he wondered what rabbit in Midgard could smell so awful when cooked.

"Meat, vegetables, some spices, I also added a potion to help relieve your pain as well. I thought it might be easier to take when put in food. Drinking it straight is a horrible experience, believe me." Devona shuddered as she recalled the taste of it. Medicine is never supposed to taste good but that particular mixture is torture.

"That explains the smell, I guess," he mumbled, staring hard at the brownish/gray broth and the chunks of gray meat floating to the surface.

Devona glared at him for about a second. She's not too fond of whining boys to begin with, and there was one in her house making snide remarks about food that she had lived with for a long time.

"If you don't eat this, I can tell you right now that the pain you will suffer will be far worse than the taste."

Bjorn's eyes widened at her words, "Are you threatening me?"

"No, I am serious." She was not teasing him anymore. "Bone regrowth hurts worse than being kicked in the chest by a horse. What I put in here will ease that pain." Bjorn nodded his head in understanding even though the idea of eating that stew made him extremely nervous.

"I am assuming your arms are still numb, right?" she questioned after a minute long silence.

"Uh-huh."

"Then I'm going to have to feed this to you. Open your mouth," she ordered, holding the spoon up to his lips waiting for his compliance. The second he did, he regretted it. At this precise moment, he would gladly have eaten swamp mud mixed with shit than whatever stew this woman's cooking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes: So so sorry for the wait. School and work have been driving me nuts these past two weeks and I have barely had any time to sit down and focus on my writing.**

 **This chapter is where you find out a little more about Devona's history.**

Chapter 4: Hidden Memories

After Bjorn had thoroughly insulted her cooking skills, Devona escaped the house and stomped through the snow to the stables. She bundled herself up in her torn green cloak and did her best to ignore the sickening noises coming from her home. It sounded as if a bear was hurling hurling up its dinner then choking on its own vomit. The only consolation Devona had was he did manage to swallow enough of it for the medicine to take effect. She just hoped that there would not be disgusting mess to clean up once she returned.

Freydis was happily munching on the oates and grain feed bag that Devona had provided for her, eager to ignore and be ignored by the world as she enjoyed her lunch. She heard her mistress's approach and twisted her head around to greet her.

Devona patted the horse's back with a gentle hand, her irritation from that Northerner all but gone. "Hey girl," she greeted, "How are you feeling? I bet you're ready for another ride, huh." The mare shook out her mane and bucked her head in response. "I thought as much. I promise I'll take you out soon. Being stuck in here for so long must be hard." Devona pressed her back against the wall next to Freydis' head and sighed.

"I'm still terrible at talking to people. I may have gone a little overboard with some of the things I said. But then again, he was not being very nice to me either."

Freydis snorted in understanding, recalling some of the foul things she had overheard this morning when her mistress was trying to help him. He definitely needed to learn some manners.

"That man is going to be a thorn in my side for the next month," she muttered to herself again, gaze traveling upward to towards the ceiling, "He cannot move on his own because of the broken leg, and he is an ungrateful cocksucker."

Devona heard her horse huff judgmentally and she swore Freydis was shooting her a disapproving glare at her use of profanity.

"What?" she questioned, raising her hands in defense. "He is! That asshole is in my home right now throwing up that meal I cooked for him. Granted, it did taste like body sweat and piss." Her laugh was mischievous and happy as she recalled the exact look the Northman was wearing after he swallowed the last bite of meat in the bowl. It was a mixture of pure misery and nausea.

"Let's hope that his stomach will toughen up after a few more dinners," she said, petting the horse one more time before leaving her alone.

Devona made her way into the clearing in front of her house, pacing in a zigzag line back and forth through the snow. Her eyes were focused on the surrounding trees, watching the midday sunlight bounce off the icicles. Every branch was weighed down by white powdery snow threatening to tumble to the ground any moment. A frozen breeze swirled through the air but the cold did not bother her at all. In fact, the winter chill was rather pleasant. The way the wind bit at her nose and cheeks, adding a pink flush to her face, it felt good.

But what she loved the most was the silence. Winter was the only time of the year where everything in the woods was quiet and peaceful. Hiding away in their burrows and caves from the season, leaving Devona completely alone with her thoughts.

Her eyes trailed up towards the pale, blue sky and she asked herself, "How can people believe that there is a great hall of the gods up there? Filled with dead warriors where all they do is eat and drink day in and day out. Or worse, a magical garden where souls can frolic and sing 'Hallelujah' for eternity... My dad would hate it there."

The instant she mentioned him, a heavy sigh escaped her and her breath turned to puffs of frost in the air. Her entire face lost its joy.

"Valhalla, Heaven, paradise, none of its real. I know that. But," Devona's voice cracked softly, her finger wiping away a stray tear from the corner of her eye, "my father deserves an afterlife. I hope he has one."

It had been a long time since she even dared to picture his face but time had not lost its accuracy for the details. She could still recall the exact shape and structure of his facial features perfectly. How her eyes were the perfect replica of his, the dark green and streaks of gold and brown depending on the time of day. How his hair was a fair blonde color and curled at the ends which seemed to enlarge his head a few centimeters. Devona used to tease him about that the most. His bushy locks were never combed properly and half the time he looked like a wild man once he grew in his beard.

Her conscious thought began to fade into a long forgotten memory. One she has refused to look upon ever since he left.

 _Devona was sitting at her dinner table, back in her old home. It was an ugly table with notches and scratches along the wood from many a brewing accident she had caused._

 _She was reading an old book on herbal medicines her father had given her a few months ago for her seventh birthday. Each page had fascinated her, she barely put the book down anymore. Re-reading sections on pain relieving herbs and disinfectants. She paid special attention to the chapter on the best cure-all potions made entirely from flowers found in the forests she grew up in. Apparently the poppy plant was the best ingredient for sleeping draughts if you wanted to put a patient out for a couple hours._

 _Nothing could tear her away from that book. Nothing, except her father Audric._

 _"Devona," he called to her, his deep, rough voice so familiar and comforting, "have you been reading ever since I left?"_

 _A childish smile lit up her face and she jumped off her chair and charged forward to greet him._

 _"Papa!" he picked her up and spun her around, they laughed together just for the heck of it. Audric wasn't a tall man. Around five foot nine inches in height, but his loud and commanding presence alone made him the largest person in any room. Especially when he smiled. His face became as bright as the sun but much more charming to look at._

 _"How is my princess?" he asked, pecking her cheek playfully._

 _"I'm well. But what about you?" Once she was set back down on her feet, she grasped her father's hand and lead him to the dinner table and his favorite chair. "Did you get hurt again?"_

 _"Of course not!" he scoffed, waving his hand in a carefree gesture. "I am not that-" the instant she rolled up his left shirt sleeve he hissed sharply and turned away from the swollen red slash along his forearm. Devona looked at the injury objectively, not frightened like a seven year old should be when faced with blood._

 _"This is infected papa," she confirmed, recognizing the signs all too well. He had come home far too many times with similar wounds and this was not the worst one she'd seen._

 _"Is it? I don't feel a thing," he assured her, his gentle grin forced onto his features. She knew he was trying to be strong, to not let the pain affect him but it was foolish of him to try._

 _"I'm going to go get some fresh water and herbs. I'll make a poultice for your arm," Devona scurried across the room to the corner where their meager kitchen was set up. It was a cluster of worn cabinets and shelves cluttered with carved metal bowls and utensils. A wash tub sat on the countertop. Crusty, oil glazed plates filled the tub to the brim and threatened to slip from their precarious positions and crash to the floor._

 _Devona opened two different cupboards near the floor so she could search both. She took an ale mug out of the left door and a mortar bowl out of the right. Then she hustled to the ale cask Audric always had available in the house and she dipped the mug into the contents till the cup was full of the brown liquor._

 _She handed it to her father and said, "Drink up. It may help numb the pain till I can clean it properly." Without waiting for any response, Devona rushed out of the house and disappeared from his view. Her feet sunk into the muddy ground as she stomped towards the leaning fence about twenty feet north of the house. The fence was protecting a patch of ground that had been overgrown by flowers, vegetable and even one or two species of weeds. Colors of red, purple, yellow, and brightest blue petals always reminded Devona of a rainbow._

 _Not wasting a breath, she picked a cluster of purple flowers and then trodden through several rows of plants till she was standing in the vegetable section. Devona picked out the garlic cloves from the potatoes and tomato vines. By the time she had gathered enough for her treatment, her hand were caked in damp dirt and the hem of her dress was filthy and black. All details that neither disgusted nor bothered her._

 _She ran back to her house and bumped the door open with her hip._

 _"I'm back," she declared. Audric had finished his ale seconds before she returned and his cheeks were slightly flushed for the alcohol._

 _"You left?"_

 _"Yes papa, you should really pay more attention to your surroundings. You are a hunter after all." Devona placed all her ingredients on the dining table then dragged the bucket of fresh water she always kept in the house over to her father's side._

 _"I have the eyes of a hawk my dear, I see everything that goes on around me," he boasted with a grin._

 _"Except when our cow gets loose from her pen and then you have to chase her down the valley," she giggled at the memory. Remembering how easily Brida evaded her father for four hours till she finally decided to come home because she was hungry. Her father was furious with Brida for days after for embarrassing him like that._

 _"The gate was locked, she must have opened it," he defended himself, putting his arm into his daughter's hands._

 _With one last laugh, she set to work washing the plant in the water bucket, then chopping it with a small knife she constantly carried on her belt._

 _"What kind of flower is that sweetie?" He questioned, not recognizing the species._

 _"Purple Coneflower, or echinacea purpurea. I am going to add garlic as well and make a paste to put on your arm."_

 _"Garlic?"_

 _"The book says that garlic cloves will help as well when fighting internal infections. But I'm gonna need to dilute the juice a bit with some oil," her explanation was flawless and certain. There was no doubt in her mind this treatment would work._

 _"I thought you used ginger last time?"_

 _"Yes, but the effects took too long to occur. Ginger does have healing properties but its food related. That's why I used it that one time you got sick from Mrs. Beekman's roast chicken." He nodded in understanding even though all these different names for plants and spices confused him. But Devona understood all the scientific jargon and used that knowledge to practice her medicinal skills and experimented a little bit when she thought the outcome would be positive_

 _"You really do enjoy this stuff, don't you?" He asked rhetorically, grinding his teeth together so he wouldn't cry out as she applied the paste. Her medicines always seemed to sting his very bones. She said that was how you know it's working, but that knowledge did not make it any more pleasant._

 _"What? Herbology?" she clarified._

 _"Yes."_

 _"Of course I do." That child-like smile returned. One front tooth was missing and the rest of her baby teeth were still present. "If I can help even one person with this knowledge, then I am happy. And besides, if I weren't here you would have been dead already."_

 _"Hey! I am not that helpless," he defended, but they both laughed at the idea anyway._

 _"Alright papa, whatever you say."_

 _A comfortable silence fell between them as Devona stitched the wound together with careful, precise motions and her father observed her all the while. She could feel her father's warm gaze upon her and knew exactly what he was thinking._

 _Her father had this uncanny obsession with her appearance, always mentioning how her features was a mirror image to her mother's. How her darker hair was exactly the same shade as her's. A deep tree bark brown with muddy highlights. How her pale skin tone was_ _exactly the same as his Marie's. Down to cheek dimple on her face and the sloping nose. In short, Devona was miniature version of his long lost lover._

 _She did not like to think of herself as a clone to her mother though. The woman who abandoned her a day after she was born and who left her father with a helpless infant with no way to take care of her. Devona had grown to hate her birth-mother in only seven years of life. Audric had explained countless times to her that Marie had to leave, even though she loved them both very much. Telling her it was a family dispute that drove her away. But such an excuse did not sway Devona's feelings on the subject._

 _Her face had become a constant reminder of the woman both she and her father had lost. She did not like that._

 _Several minutes passed before Audric broke the quiet with an unexpected question, "Are you lonely Devona?"_

 _"Not really, why?"_

 _"You know how I worry. I am away far too often," his voice was burdened with guilt and grief. Knowing he was not being the best father he could be._

 _"Papa," the expression she wore was serious and far too mature for a girl her age. "It's alright. I'm not totally alone. I have the_ _horses and cows to talk to. And the garden keeps me busy. The best part about it though," her eyes glazed over and her attention was focused on some faraway image Audric could not see, "the animals don't need to talk for me to understand them."_

 _"Devona," he began, resting his larger palm over her small hand, "I understand you prefer to be alone. I was like that at your age, but if you cannot connect with anyone but your pets than how will you ever find true friendship?"_

 _"But I have you, you're all I need."_

She subconsciously wiped away the forming tears, the memory of him too much for her heart to handle.

Her attention was dragged away from her past by the sound of a branch cracking under a heavy foot. Every muscle tensed beneath her skin and she whipped her body towards the source, her dagger already in hand for defense. She could see a vaguely familiar shape in the distance, a person sitting atop a raven black stallion with white markings running up and down its legs. Devona kept her eyes trained on the man, not moving a single muscle so long as he watched her. His form was not tall or broad, but pudgy and short. Unkempt reddish brown hair peeked out from under his hood and that is when she recognized him.

 _What the fuck are you doing here?_ She wondered, her eyebrows furrowing into an expression of pure unadulterated loathing.

Before she could demand answers from him, a loud crashing sound erupted from her house along with a scream of absolute misery. Without a second thought she ran back to see what that Northman had done to himself this time.

The rider chuckled to himself, and turned his horse back around. Setting off in a gallop back down the mountainside for home. He was content with what he had seen today.

 **Stay tuned, the next chapter is an awkward but touching moment between Bjorn and Devona.**

 **Please leave a review of what you think.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes: This chapter took a while to get down but I think I captured the emotions I wanted to portray between them... Hopefully ;). Please leave a review and tell me what you think and if you're enjoying it so far!**

Chapter 5: An Understanding

If Bjorn could fall into a burning pit of flames right now, he would.

He was truly a pitiful sight, sprawled on the floor, his own shit and urine spattered on the rug, soaking through his clothes. The smell had gone far past disgusting and into the realm of vile. What made it worse though, he was certain he had tore the stitches on his back wide open. Blood was leaking out of the scratches and staining his shirt.

This was probably the most humiliating moment in his entire life. That was before she saw him.

"What happened to you?" asked Devona, her eyebrows were quirked in a curious expression. His heart physically stopped for three seconds at her sudden appearance, he hadn't even heard her come back inside the house!

Bjorn covered his face with his hands, trying not to think about how this girl may or may not have been staring at certain… exposed parts of himself. He rolled over and away from her view if only to regain some of his pride.

"Hey!" Without hesitation, she rushed to his side and knelt down to the floor, "Can you hear me? Or are you just ignoring me?"

"Can you please just leave me alone," he begged, his face flushed a light shade of pink against his will.

"Huh, you said something similar that night I found you," she noted before shaking away the unimportant thoughts. "And anyway I can't leave you when it's obvious you need me." Her fingers wrapped around his wrists and she tugged on his arms, pulling him upright then catching his body against her own. Bjorn refused to look her in the eye, turning his head to the side so he could not possibly catch her expression. Her legs buckled under his immense form, then she pivoted him around as best she could and set him down onto the edge of the bed. Devona kept her eyes trained onto his face and asked one more time, "What happened?"

He sighed heavily, staring at his feet as he began to grumble a response, "Once I started to gain feeling back in my body….. nature decided to call." Bjorn bit the inside of his cheek, hoping that was all the information she needed to guess the sequence of events.

To save him further embarrassment, she spoke for him, "So you got up to relieve yourself, and managed to do that I'm assuming. But when you tried to stand, you fell and crashed into the chamber pot and that is how you became covered in your own excrement." He nodded shamefully, his interest centered on his toes.

Devona shook her head, completely at a loss for words but knew better than to laugh at him in this moment. Instead, she rushed off to gather a fresh bucket of water, clean clothes for him, and any spare rag she had to clean him up with. She pulled her hair into a loose bun and tied it with a spare leather string she found on her kitchen table. She also stuffed clean bandages and a needle and thread into her hands to redress the wounds that he had opened.

Walking back into the bedroom with her assortment of tools, she first set the bucket by the bed with a linen cloth already soaking in the water. Then placed the bandages, clothes, and stitching supplies on the side table out of her way.

Devona boldly began removing his ruined shirt and pants while Bjorn kept both hands securely hiding his lower regions. He prayed to Odin and all the gods that she hadn't seen anything considering the disgusting circumstances. He flinched noticeably when she touched his shoulder with a comforting hand. If a hole opened up in the floor right now he would gladly sink into it so he would never have to relive this moment again.

"Relax, everything is going to be alright," she said, rubbing his back in a reassuring way. The palm of her hand was radiating the same warmth as before, calming his nerves almost instantly. His stiff posture melted away and he heaved a relieved sighed as the heat traveled through his skin and into his muscles. Devona's lips turned upward into a smile but Bjorn never got to see it. She was pleased he had finally calmed down and he trusted her just enough to let her help him.

She took the rag out of the bucket and wrung out the excess water. Her free hand was still resting on his shoulder and he sunk into the comfort it provided. The silence was still a little awkward for him since he was sitting there naked but the situation was ten thousand times worse.

"I'm surprised you are not more squeamish about this," he remarked. He most certainly did not think this was the perfect time to start a casual discussion, but he preferred the distraction.

"As a healer I have had to get used to seeing all kinds of gross and disturbing things. If I was squeamish about a little mess, we would not be having this conversation." She then proceeded to clean off the smell of urine from his flesh. Streaks of water ran down his chest, arms, and back with every pass of her hands. Thin streams blood followed the water's pattern until the wash cloth wiped them away.

He risked a glance to her face, made eye contact with her, then flicked his gaze to the wall across from him, "Really?"

"Yep. Infected wounds are rather disgusting to look at after all." Devona chuckled at the prominent flush to his cheeks. His embarrassment was strangely endearing to her. She never expected such a bashful reaction but it was, for lack of a better word, cute.

Bjorn nodded, holding back his body's natural reaction to shiver when her fingers glided across his lower stomach. His teeth clenched and he subconsciously pressed his knees closer together.

She spent another minute in that area before circling round to his other side, "It's good to know that you can move about on your own though. That's a huge improvement from when you first came here." Devona's attempt at comforting him was completely lost on Bjorn. He thought she was just pitying him and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Yeah," he scoffed, "falling right on my ass the moment I try to do something so simple on my own."

"Be grateful that you're healing this quickly. Most people in your situation would still be stuck in bed for at least two more weeks before they were brave enough to try and stand."

"It doesn't feel like I'm healing at all. My leg is completely useless and every time I move I fear that I might tear open the wound on my side." Bjorn was frustrated for good reason. The time it takes to heal such injuries is unbearably long and for an over-active mind like his, the thought of spending so many hours in bed was frightening.

"You're acting like a child," she reprimanded too quickly. He was just angry and hurt, she had to remember that for his sake. "You need to be patient and don't do anything that might re-break the bone again. I set it once already, I don't want to do it a second time. I promise that you will be back to fighting shape in no time."

Devona dipped the wash cloth back into the water and then scrubbed at his shoulders and back, careful to not run the the rough fabric over the oozing scratches. She admired the detailed black tattoos that began at the base of his neck and expanded across his spine. The image was a runic design and very interesting to look at. Her gaze lingered there a few more moments before traveling down the wide expanse of his back. There was no point in denying how muscular he was. Every inch of his body was built for strength and power. Devona began to imagine what she would do if they had met in completely different circumstances. If he was healthy and at his full potential. Would she have been afraid of him? No, there was something about this Northman that did not scare her at all. Was it those sweet ice blue eyes of his that eased her nerves? Or was it something else entirely? His presence was not brutish in the slightest; if she had to put words to it, his attitude and demeanor suggested he was a protector not a violent berserker like so many of these Vikings were.

If they had met in the woods and their roles were reversed, he would have done the same thing she did. No doubt about it.

"Is something wrong?" Bjorn wondered, glancing backwards briefly. Her movements had stopped completely and he grew worried she had seen something that distressed her.

"Um… no." Her words were almost inaudible and she continued her work at a faster pace. She tried to cover up her lapse of concentration by adding, "I just never understood why men like to permanently damage their skin with ink and needles is all."

Bjorn's face twisted into confusion at her comment and he said, "It's not as if we enjoy the process. The markings are symbols of won battles, or honoring the gods."

"I know that." Devona's right shoulder shifted uncomfortably in its socket. She inhaled a fair amount of oxygen to keep her hands from shaking. "Still, I cannot imagine why you people have to have so many."

"What do you mean 'you people'? It's not as if we are another species," he defended.

She did not say anything in response, regretting her word choice in that statement.

Silently standing and gathering the ruined clothes, she wiped the floor clean of any remaining excrement then took everything outside. Bjorn wondered why she suddenly became so quiet and thought about what he could have possibly said to upset her. Nothing obvious sprung to mind no matter how many times he re-ran the conversation in his head. Something had to to trigger that response but he could not even begin to guess what it was.

Devona washed her hands of the vile smell thoroughly before returning to stitch him back together. She did not speak at all as she prepared the needle, dipping it into a pure alcohol solution to clean it of any bacteria. It took her only five minutes to repair the broken seams of skin, clean them out, and wrap them back up in bandages. Bjorn tried to gauge her mood but her expression offered him no clues.

"Clothes are on the side table," was all she said before hurrying out of the room to give him privacy.

He didn't need anymore encouragement than that, swiftly tugging on the clothes as he was ordered to. The fresh garments were one size too small for him but Bjorn figured that was better than being stark naked.

Devona waited a fair amount of time before entering the room again and what she saw was enough to make her jaw hang open in shock. The shirt hugged his upper body tightly, outlining his chiseled upper body and abdomen. The trousers appeared to be painted on from mid thigh down showing off his strong legs a little too much. She watched Bjorn replace the shin splint on his injured leg, noting how the shirt rode up his back to expose his skin. Devona didn't want to admit he was physically perfect but it as hard to argue with the evidence.

"See something interesting?" He teased, finding his humor now that he was clothed again.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his playful smirk and if she didn't know better, she would swear that butterflies were attacking her stomach. She coughed uncomfortably and shifted her eyes away from his face. The temptation to keep looking at him was annoying her to pieces.

"I've seen better," she lied, forcing her face into a nonchalant expression. "Sorry the pants are so tight. Last guy who came here was not as big as you." It took Devona a second to understand why his eyebrows had shot straight up his face and she blushed a fair shade of pink. "I meant your legs! Your legs are big."

 _I am such an idiot_ , she mentally kicked herself and stared at the floor.

"It will do, thank you," he said, laughing softly. He needed to change the subject before things got worse, "So, I am not the first man whose come into your home huh?"

"The fourth if you want to be specific. Not many men risk traveling this far up the mountains. Luck must have been on your side this time." Devona was grateful for the new topic.

"Perhaps," Bjorn agreed, scratching the back of his neck in an uncomfortable way. Neither was sure what to say at this point.

It took Devona several moments to gather enough courage to finally ask the hanging question, "So… Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes," he replied with a nod, "thanks to you."

Devona shrugged her shoulders, "No problem." She thought about leaving this conversation at that but her damn conscious forced her to say something more, "And I'm sorry for acting like such a bitch."

"Huh?" Bjorn was staring at her, curious as to what she was referring to.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you okay!" Devona took a second to calm back down, not wanting to repeat the same mistakes as before. "I know how strange it may seem, me not wanting to tell you my name. But I just cannot bring myself to trust you yet."

"Is there a reason for that?" he questioned. "Because you made it perfectly clear that I am no threat to you while I am injured. And I am inclined to believe that with how you handled those wolves."

She smiled knowingly, "Then you're a lot smarter than most people." The compliment was unexpected and Devona could barely make out the hint of a grin on his face. "The other men have not been so wise."

Bjorn watched her entire expression turn sour in a matter of seconds and that is when he understood. He knew why she was so afraid of him.

She was a young woman, completely isolated from civilization, with no sign of a husband or any man around to protect her. If he wasn't the only one she had saved from death, then that had to mean the others have tried to take advantage of her kindness. The very thought of those men hurting her made his stomach churn. She didn't deserve to be treated like that, no woman did. The flash of anger was vicious and unforgiving, his hands squeezed into fists and now it was his turn to take a moment to calm down.

"I understand," he said, stretching his fingers to relieve the tension. He knew that if any man tried to do that in his presence Bjorn would kill them no questions asked. He was surprised that he was willing to do that for a woman he had just met but ignored his confusion once he saw Devona was on the verge of saying something.

She nodded her head softly and her gaze fell to the floor. It was hard to forget those bastards, and even hard to forget the fear that they caused. Devona looked at the man before her and tried to find the appropriate response one should give after that revelation.

"Thank you," she sighed appreciatively. "As long as we are clear about where you stand right now, there should not be any problems."

"And where is that?"

"A partly crippled fool whose life rests in my hands," her snicker was uncharacteristically adorable. Bjorn was glad she was laughing again and he returned her mischievous smirk with a gentle smile. "So from now on, I shall address you as 'crippled boy' because I don't know your real name-"

"It's Bjorn," he interrupted.

"Bjorn," Devona ran the name over her tongue in a whisper. It certainly suited him. He was large and commanding, much like a bear from which his name originated. "Your parents chose well."

"And I am guessing you won't give me yours in return?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "If it means so much to you call me Laila."

"But that's not your real name is it?" She did not reply. Simply turning her back and walking back to the front door and out of the cabin. Devona would not trust him. No matter how kind or gentle he seemed to be, there was no force in the heavens that could make her give away her secrets.

Because if he found out… he would kill her on the spot. Just like the others wanted to do, before her arrows met their hearts that is.


	6. Chapter 6

**Please leave a review and tell me if you're enjoying the story so far!**

Chapter 6: Hiding

The next week dragged by in a blur for Devona. Bjorn had been surprisingly well-behaved, patiently waiting for any opportunity to probe her about the most irrelevant subjects he could think of. Like what chore she was doing, how, and why. He had nothing better to do after all than sit around and watch her work, the only real entertainment he had was interrogating Devona till she thought her head might explode from the colossal headache.

And every night when he went to sleep, she would check on him a little while later to be sure he was out. She lingered a little longer each night, watching how he shifted and grumbled in his dreams. He would snuggle his face into the pillows one minute and the next he would be wrestling free of the blankets. Devona caught herself laughing at the action more than once. There was something purely juvenile about his fussiness, but that only made it cuter.

After she was certain he was comfortable and sleeping soundly, she would then grab her bow and quiver to practice shooting. Her targets were the trees and the bushes. The snowy terrain was her obstacle course. Devona liked to keep her skills as sharp as possible. Running exercises of different scenarios where she was required to adjust aim and form whilst on the move. Chasing deer and other game had given her sufficient experience but she enjoyed the adrenaline and the freedom that coursed through her when she hunted. Even if it was just practice. Worries became meaningless and any irritation that bit at her conscience would die the moment the arrow soared through the air. Shooting helped her relax and by the Gods she needed it.

Dawn would begin to peek at the pitch black sky, threatening to invade the moon's territory way too early for Devona's liking. It only reminded her that she needed to go back inside soon and get at least a few hours sleep before Bjorn woke up. Another day of pestering and inquiries awaited her; if she wanted to survive it then resting would be a good start.

She would quietly slip back inside the cabin and gather a spare pillow, a worn out bed roll, and her thick fur coat. Organizing everything into a makeshift bed next to the fire every night and clearing it away before the Viking woke up later that morning. Since he had taken up most of the bed it was impossible for them to share and Devona would not want to sleep next to him even if she could.

Four hours passed before Bjorn began to stir. He was, as usual, well rested and very eager to start the day. Rolling out of the sheets without moving his broken leg had become a science and he was a master. Ten he would grab his makeshift crutch that Devona had made for him out of a walking stick and painfully get up on his feet. Hobbling his way back into the main room, he caught sight of his host sitting at her work table in the far left corner of the cabin. Plants had been hung up to dry weeks ago over her head and along the walls. Different bottles and boxes of ingredients were scattered over the surface in an organized fashion. It looked like she was crushing plant stems with her mortar and pestle tools while also reviewing her formula in a small torn book that sat by her right hand.

"What are you doing?"he asked, leaning against the wall to take some of his body weight off his leg.

"Skinning a goat of course," she replied with a smirk. Devona twisted her head back towards the Northman and she laughed. His face was turned downwards into a judgemental frown. "What?"

"Did anyone ever mention that when you tell jokes, it sounds like you're being serious?"

"It may have come up once or twice in my life." He shook his head at her mischievous snicker then shuffled to the dining table. Extending his bad leg so he wouldn't accidentally bend it as he took his usual seat on the bench.

"So what are really you doing today?" Bjorn pressed.

"Mixing together the ingredients for a medicine that reduces the effects of a fever."

"For who?"

"There's a girl in the village twenty miles south of here who is still recovering from a chest cold after falling into a frozen lake." She brushed her hair back over her shoulder and out of the way. Devona had decided not to tie her hair up this morning and he had to admit he preferred this style.

"Do you make medicines for everyone in that town?" he wondered, refocusing on the conversation.

"More or less," she said while pouring two cups of water into the the bowl.

"Is that how you make money for," he pointed his finger upwards than rotated his elbow in a circular motion to include the whole house, "all of this?"

"Actually, I sell love charms to young couples and curses to women with cheating husbands." Her mischievous smile returned.

"Can you answer me seriously?" Bjorn reprimanded, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. She tried to contain her laughter but his frustrated pout was too adorable.

"I can, I just choose not to."

"Odin's beard woman, you can be so infuriating!"

"I'm sorry, it's just you give me such good opportunities. Too good to resist." Devona was still giggling for another minute and her laughter brought a small smile to Bjorn's lips. It was one of the few times he had genuinely heard her laugh, he liked how it sounded instead of her usual grumblings and muttered curses.

"And yes, I sell medicine to the village to pay for all of this." Her finger did the exact same motion as his had done to emphasize her point. "What I can't scavenge or make myself I buy from the townspeople."

"If that is the case, then why do you live so far away? Would it not be easier to be in walking distance of the village rather than having people trek twenty miles up a mountain to get their medicines?"

"Let's just say the people down in Kollavik, don't particularly like having me around longer than necessary," she explained, rising to her feet and bringing the bowl to the cauldron on the fire. Bjorn noticed for the first time that there was already a bubbling gold colored liquid inside before she added the contents in the mortar. The boiling sound quieted to a slow simmer and Devona nodded in approval.

"Why is that?" He wondered, taking a wild guess in his mind that it had something to do with her unnecessary sarcasm.

"Maybe it's because they think I'm a witch, hard to tell since they don't usually like to chat with me." Rising from her kneeling position, Bjorn caught the serious look in her eye and knew she was not joking anymore.

"Why would they think that?"

"People from small towns are far more superstitious than city borns. They don't understand how I can know so much about herbs and tonics so they call me a witch. Most of them shun me even after I saved their lives more than once with my medicines." Devona showed no sign of resentment towards the townspeople, it was just another fact of life to her.

"That's ridiculous," he argued.

She smiled at his concern, adding, "I know, but it's just the way it is." Crossing the room to the line of shelves, she gathered several bulky glass bottles with cork stoppers. He followed her every movement with an unnatural curiosity. His eyes roamed over every line and curve of her body. His original prediction of her body type was proven true. She was thin but leaning more towards lean than skinny. Her tall frame was strong in the shoulders and supported by toned long legs. Bjorn continued to observe her as she leaned over the cauldron and ladled the medicine into each bottle till they were full.

He thought about all of the things he had learned about her so far and tried to come up with a possible explanation as to why she was hiding up here on her own. Hiding… He ran the word over and over again in his head. That would explain a lot of her behavior actually. The cold facade, every vague or sarcastic response to the most innocent questions, and her mistrust of him.

"Laila?" He called, shifting his weight slightly so he could lean more against the table. It took Devona a few seconds to answer to the name.

Her head snapped up from her work and she answered, "What?"

"Are you hiding from something?" A fierce chill cooled her blood making her almost drop her vial.

There was no way he could know. Right? He had no clues to her past that could possibly indicate that she was running from someone. But he knew, he had taken a shot in the dark and landed right on the mark.

"Why would you say that?" Devona chuckled awkwardly, forcing her smile to stay in place.

"It's just," he struggled with finding the right words to elaborate his suspicions, "I would have thought a healer such as yourself would want to be near as many people as she could. Helping them every way you can."

She sighed, shoving a cork back into one of the glass vials, "I used to be like that."

"What happened?"

Several faces passed across her vision and she visibly shook as each one was replaced with another. The first was a man with wrinkled tan skin and brown almost black eyes that always put the fear of the Gods in her. He had matted reddish brown hair and the beginnings of a beard on his face. The second was a girl, beautiful and pure. Her face was round and full with the remnants of her youth, with deep sea blue eyes that sparkled brighter than sapphires. The third and fourth were practically identical, the only difference was their age. These faces had the same dirty blonde hair that fell to their shoulders and the same sadistic golden brown eyes that were merciless when focused on her. The young one set Devona's teeth on edge and the sickening feeling of a hand on her back and chest made her shivering worse.

"Nothing that you should be worrying about Bjorn," she advised, standing up and stowing the bottles safely inside a crate. He sighed heavily in frustration, not happy that he had lost her again to the secrets she kept. But what was more annoying was his inability to let this go. That was always a problem with him, Bjorn could never let something go once he had decided he wanted it. Going on raids with his father, learning how to use a sword… And falling in love with Thorunn. All things he had fought for and won in the end.

Her resistance irritated him like nothing he had ever known and he was not remembered in this life for having boundless patience.

"It must be hard, living up here all on your own," he was poking a wild animal with a stick and he knew it.

"I survive."

"I know if it were me, I'd go crazy if I had no one to talk to for months and months."

"Alright," she agreed not seeing where he was taking this conversation.

"I was raised in a place where there was always someone around, a worker or my parents. I can't imagine how you live like this every day!"

"I'm an introvert by nature I suppose. I was living pretty much on my own long before I moved here," Devona confided.

"You are so strange," he stated bluntly shaking his head.

"I'll take that as a compliment, and not punch you in the nose." Bjorn leaned away from her darkened expression and her now balled fist. "This can't be the first time you've met a loner?"

"It sort of is, I have never known anyone who would willingly confine themselves away from civilization."

"Look Bjorn, you've made it perfectly clear how you feel about this situation. So can you drop it now?" She had had enough of this discussion and went back to work without giving him a second thought.

He bit the inside of his cheek to hold onto whatever he wanted to say and turned his back to her after realizing he had lost this fight. It had been a long time since he had been so frustrated with another person. The only woman to ever get under his skin this bad was Thorunn.

The first time they actually had a conversation he practically had to force her into it by using the "master" card he was loathe to use. Not to mention she had kept refusing his kind gestures and his attempts to make her feel less like a slave.

Somehow those days seemed like they were so far in the past and yet he had met Thorunn only a year and a half ago. So little time. Bjorn did take some consolation in knowing that she was in Valhalla now, but the selfish part of him wished for her to be by his side again. It was almost painful how much he missed her and the future they were planning together. And their child…

Devona was thankful for the silence but his loss of voice was telling. She glanced back towards the Northman and saw how far his shoulders had slumped and how heavily he sighed. His entire frame displayed his grief and she could only guess at what was eating away his heart. A surge of pity filled her soul and despite her usual nonchalance towards most human beings, she wanted nothing more than to get his mind off of the heavy thoughts.

"You know something Bjorn, I have been thinking about some things and I was just wondering," she babbled, earning his attention albeit reluctantly, "how you managed to get so lost in your own country that you wandered onto this mountain considering its a hard thing to miss." She forced a smile onto her face but it had no effect on his mood.

"I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going, I was just walking," he responded bluntly, reminding Devona of all her vague answers before.

"Trying to get away from someone too?" Their eyes locked together. Blue sky and the forest joined together for the first time in kinship. "I get it."

"More like the memories of someone," he muttered, tearing his gaze to the floor and away from those hypnotizing eyes.

"It's okay," she consoled. "You picked the right place to hide." A weak grin turned the corner of his mouth upwards but he still could not look at her. "You've got plenty of time to do whatever you need to do before going back home."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

The rest of the day passed by in scattered conversations and work. Devona spent most of her time piling crates of vials and bandages on top of each other, organizing for some trip down into town. She explained calmly that she needed to gather more supplies and extraneous items that she was running short on. Clothes were a big problem considering Bjorn's sudden appearance as her guest. Her reasons for heading out were legitimate but not something he wanted to hear right now. He had just started to get used to having her around whenever he needed. She was the best distraction from the memories, even if she can be a little sarcastic and rude at times.

"Can I not go with you?" He asked for the tenth time.

"It's a two day round trip and Freydis cannot drag a wagon and a two hundred pound man on her for that distance in this terrain. If you were able to walk more steadily I may have considered it but your leg is far too weak yet for such a journey."

"What am I supposed to do until you return?"

"Keep the house clean, sharpen my weapons, and feed yourself I suppose. I am certain you will find things to keep you busy," she reassured.

"I know nothing of running a house," Bjorn excused himself.

"I will give you some pointers but I must be off at first light tomorrow morning. Otherwise we may get stuck in another snow storm and I will not be able to travel for another week. I cannot wait that long if I want to gather all the extra gear for the rest of the season."

Devona's heart clenched when she caught sight of his puppy like pout. There was no reason for her to feel obligated to hurry home just for him. Bjorn was a grown man and if he couldn't handle two days without her than that was his problem.

"Alright, if I leave tonight I can be back a little earlier than two days. If I ride straight with no breaks I should be home by early morning the day after tomorrow, noon at the latest. How does that sound?" It was mind boggling that this person could draw out such a response from her, and what confused her more was how his sudden shift in mood seemed to give her a sense of relief.

His eyes lit up at her promise to return and he said, "That sounds good. So long as you swear not to take too long."

"Swearing will take time out of my preparations," she stated stubbornly, lifting the box of medicine with ease and carrying it to sizeable pile at the door. "Now I have to pack arrows and weapons since traveling by night is ten times more dangerous. I hope the east road isn't too covered with snow."

For the rest of the afternoon Devona was hustling to and from the house muttering her list of essential items she needed to pack for her journey and reviewing her assortment of potions and salves for the villagers so she could make as much coin as possible or at the very least trade medicine for supplies. Bjorn still dreaded the day and a half he would spend alone but she had given him several chores that were not physically demanding but time consuming to occupy his time. He paid extra attention when she handed him his pain relieving medication.

"Drink one sip three times a day and don't take the next dose until four hours have passed at least," she reminded.

By the time she had finished explains all of her instructions, night had descended and she slung her bow and quiver onto her back. Freydis was already equipped with the wagon and standing patient ally at attention for her mistress. Devona loosely waved at him in a goodbye gesture before guiding the horse through the snow.

"Be safe," he muttered, the feeling of being abandoned all too prominent. He could hear her horse's retreating hoof beats for only a minute before everything fell utterly quiet. Without seeing anything else to do, Bjorn pulled himself up with the table and hobbled back to her bed for hopefully a long rest. The more hours he could sleep away the better.

He flopped down onto the soft furs and rolled himself in their warmth. The scent of mint and vanilla tickled his nose when he buried his face in the pillows. It was a sweet and comforting smell, how did he not notice it till now? Bjorn inhaled as much of it as he could and without any warning his body relaxed and he fell into a deep sleep.

 _The Saxon army of the false prince Burgred were frantically running up and down the battlefield, losing all sense of heroism once Aethelwulf's archers started to pick them off one by one from the cliff tops. The Viking force was chopping through the enemy lines like a ship through the waves. Clean and efficient. Bjorn's sword hacked and swung at the heads and bodies of the coward's army, the adrenaline pumping through his veins faster than the spread of a wildfire._

 _He stabbed one soldier through his armor and twisted the blade inside his guts till he screamed in agony. Yanking the blade out took two seconds too long but the sight of his intestines tumbling out of the gash was satisfying. This is what he lived for. Fighting was what Bjorn was born and bred to do. The Gods had gifted him with a strong body and quick instincts. No sword ever touched his flesh while he was killing._

 _After taking two more down with ease, he spun round searching for Thorunn. She was no longer at his side and anger flashed across his eyes. That girl is going to be in so much trouble once he finds her again. Running off into a battle by herself was suicide, she may have gotten a decent amount of practice with a sword but there was still too much for her to learn._

 _He ran through the fray, ducking under axes and blades as he went. Blood sprayed into his eyes as one shield maiden successfully managed to cop off a Saxon head with her weapon. Bjorn wiped the sticky red liquid out of his eyes as best he could but he was still fighting to see when a familiar tall blonde head scrambled farther up the hill. There was no mistaking that hairstyle for any other warrior and Bjorn breathed lighter knowing she was still alive._

 _Thorunn approached one soldier, brandishing her shield defensively and swinging her sword in a taunt. The Saxon swung his sword wildly, from undercuts to overhead chops trying to either break her shield or her arm whichever came first. She struggled blocking all of the attacks, planting her feet into the wet ground for support._

 _Bjorn punched a soldier in the nose then sliced through his neck, taking his eyes off her for barely a second. Another enemy charged and he disarmed the warrior with little effort then kicked him aside. Those few moments were all he had left to see her fall._

 _Twisting his body back around to check on her brawl, his heart stopped and the whole world went quiet. The Saxon had dragged his blade across Thorunn's face, the excruciating pain was obvious in her contorted face but he heard no screams. Bjorn sprinted towards her, shouting her name but his voice sounded muffled and faraway. The sword was already forced into her stomach before he was even close to saving her. She choked on the blood that crawled its way up her throat and coughed it into the face of her killer._

 _Bjorn barely remembers how he made that soldier pay, only that his face was unrecognizable by the time he had finished bashing it in with Thorunn's shield. He ran to her side and continued to call her name, but there was no point. There was no more life in her face, her skin was growing cold without a heartbeat. His hand rested on her torn belly and he began to cry._

 _What had he done?_

Bjorn was jolted awake by the nightmare, the room was almost completely dark if not for the light of the fading fire. His head snapped to the other side of the bed then dropped when it became clear that Throunn was not there beside him and this wasn't their home. He sat there for hours, staring at the wall across from him trying not to think about her at all and failing miserably.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes: WARNING! This chapter has some allusions to sexual assault and disturbing details. Please bee very carefully, if you don't like reading such things you can try and skip it.**

 **Otherwise, this is where we meet our villain so enjoy! Leave a review to tell me what you think of the story so far.**

Chapter 7: Kollavik

Kollavik is a town that has gone slightly backwards in time. It is nestled inside a bowl-shaped valley in North-West part of Norway and is otherwise cut off from the rest of the world. Only one visible road lead into the village and it was rarely used for the treacherous trip one had to take across the mountains. In winter all communication and trade was silenced. In the summer they barely managed to scrape together enough iron ore to exchange with the farms to the south for food. The houses were made of cracked timber and were just about ready to fall apart. The citizens were extremely superstitious and tougher than your average Viking. Even the women were bulkier and stronger than other Northerners.

But the real reason she was forced to this forsaken corner of the world, was the leering house on the hill. The man who lived there physically made her sick. His broken and crooked smile was disturbing to look upon and those soul chilling black eyes always made her feel disgusting the longer he looked at her. If there was one person she wanted to kill more than anyone, it would have to be Gizur.

She shook away the filthy feeling on her skin and reluctantly stomped her way to the front of the house. Torches were lit on either side of the double doors. It was a bigger building than all of the shacks in the center of the valley with shields decorating the walls and the entrance. Gizur had tried to imitate an Earl's hall with this design, building the house longwise and narrow in width. A hearth fire was burning according to the smoke coming out of the roof. He was definitely home. Not that she didn't expect to see him, what with the visit from his spy a week ago.

Devona tied Freydis' reins to a yard post and reluctantly knocked on the front door. One of Gizur's oversized thugs answered her knock. Three of his teeth were missing and his nose was crooked from one too many drunken brawls. Otherwise, he looked like your typical savage with matted blonde hair and scarred body.

"You're late," he huffed, the stench of ale and rotten fish tainting his breath.

She visibly recoiled from it and replied, "I have the goods, I am sure your master will not mind my timing considering how dangerous the road has become recently." His dumb blue eyes scanned her from head to toe a few seconds longer than necessary before stepping aside to let her in. Devona made sure to bump her shoulder into his gut as she stepped over the threshold if only to stagger him a bit. The Northman didn't even notice.

The interior was darker and colder than the outside, exactly how she remembered it the last time she was forced to meet Gizur here. The fire did not provide much warmth casting eerie shadows across the walls and faces of everyone within. Timber rafters and lofts shortened the height of the room making Devona feel trapped and claustrophobic. Three black mangled hounds were fighting each other over a scrap of beef their master refused to eat. Seven warriors were standing guard on both sides of the room and watched her pass, smiling with broken yellowed teeth. Each one had arms the size of tree logs and brains smaller than a mouse. Their hands were comfortably resting on axe handles or clubs. A clear warning to not make any sudden movement that will set them on a rampage. She ignored their hate filled glares, marching straight for the dining table towards the back of the great room. Gizur was sitting comfortable at the head, cutting up a cooked piece of meat with a rusty knife. He didn't even turn her way or offer her a seat before he began to speak.

"You know Devona, it is remarkable how punctual you always are. More constant than the sun rise." His laugh was a sickening chuckle that went right through her making her visibly shudder. His hair was pulled back into a pony tail revealing the missing piece of his left ear cartilage. A hunting accident she remembered healing him from a long time ago.

"What a touching compliment," she replied, her annoyance evident in her tone.

"How many years have you and I have been friends?" he continued, picking his teeth with his thumb nail. "Four years now right?" Gizur flipped the knife about loosely with every lazy wave of his hand. Blood from the meat dropped down his chubby fingers but he did not notice or care.

"Oh, I wouldn't go so far to say we are friends Gizur." Her voice was thick with loathing, she was not here to make small talk and yet he insisted on dragging out this process every month just to see her squirm. And he was good at it, too good. "More like a debtor and her tax collector."

He snickered at her sarcasm and tut-tutted in disapproval, "Be nice little Eir, remember, I am the only one you can count on nowadays."

 _And you love it_ , she thought resisting her natural urge to roll her eyes at him.

Devona bit her lip and said instead, "All the medicine is in the cart outside. As promised."

"Good." He took a large gulp of ale from his drinking horn and belched a few seconds later. He snapped his fingers and two thugs marched outside to bring in the crates. Shuffling noises and grunts sounded from behind her but she ignored them.

"Gizur," she continued, the sign of a favor evident in her tone.

"Yes my little Eir?" he gushed, his face ever so smug. Devona clenched her fist and tried to think of one good reason not to punch his teeth into his skull.

"I need you to lend me some money," she muttered staring at her feet and shifting uncomfortably.

"Whatever for?"

"Supplies. The blizzard ruined some of my food stores and I require some extra gear."

He hummed while scratching his patchy beard in a contemplative gesture. Gizur stood to his full height of five feet ten inches but because of his excessive weight he appeared to be much shorter.

"Fine, but next month you are going to give me an extra twenty poultices for.." he stumbled over what to say since he never took the time to learn the proper vocabulary words that described what her medicine did. All he knew was that her skill was invaluable, "whatever helps people recover from a stomach illness."

"Of course," she agreed, bowing her head slightly.

With another pompous snap, one of his thugs stepped forward and produced a purse full of coin and plopped it into her waiting hands. The weight of the pouch was decent but she would have to haggle in several essentials if Bjorn was going to get everything he needed to survive the season and get home before spring.

"Thank you." Devona turned to leave rather hurriedly since she had no desire to stay in this house for a minute longer than she had to. But before she could make it five steps to the door, two of the closer warriors blocked her path and chuckled. Her mouth suddenly became parched and her heart rate sped up to an uncomfortable pace.

"There's just one teeny thing I must clear up with you my dear," Gizur insisted, leaning against the edge of the table and crossing his arms. She turned to face him and waited silently for him to elaborate, keenly aware of the guards lurking behind her. "Who is the man staying at your house?"

Devona ground her teeth together, cursing that damn spy and all his children internally before hissing, "I don't see how that is any of your business."

"But it is little Eir," he stalked forward sluggishly, as if he had all the time in the world. He was definitely enjoying this suspense and tension. "Because I wonder what will happen once he discovers that you were a Christian before Earl Halvor brought you here as his pet."

Devona glared at the man in front of her as harshly as she could but Gizur showed no sign of feeling threatened. He was in control, as he has always been.

She did not want to think about that day. Not again. But how could she not?

The screams of her neighbors, begging for mercy. Children crying for their parents before they were cut down by Viking swords. Fire spread from house to house until the whole village was reduced to nothing but ash. They ran and fled as fast as they were able but it was never fast enough. The Northman left no survivors, male survivors anyhow. The women on the other hand were ruined beyond repair. Their pleas for mercy were not acknowledged. Instead the Warriors simply trusted harder till the poor girls were unable to speak.

She fought back though, firing her arrows but killing no one. Her hands shook too much back then and her thirteen year old heart was not ready to kill. Those brutes had grabbed her with the intent to destroy her mind and body in anyway they pleased. That disgusting laughter as each one tossed her around like a toy, playing with her before the real fun began.

Earl Halvor had come upon her and the group of warriors by sheer luck. She never understood or figured out why he stopped them that day. He had no reason to spare one Saxon child from their wrath, but he simply took her hand and lead her back to camp. Devona had asked why he saved her but he always told her to thank the Gods for his fateful rescue, and she never did.

For many years she served that man, never realizing how truly terrible he was until it was almost too late. Gizur was the one who helped her escape from her crime but this snake always had a price when he performs good deeds.

"Why should he find out?" she croaked, the fear and grief breaking her voice.

"The men who take shelter with you always do. It's not like you're subtle about your heritage my dear."

"I praise the Gods and I don't have any Christian relic in my house." Her defense was weak since Gizur has been proven correct on this matter before.

"Your words mean little since you don't truly believe in the power of the Gods. And that book you keep is proof enough since no one on this island can read or write."

"I need it Gizur, it holds every record and formula for the medicine. The work you value so much," she reminded.

"And it's because of that value that I fear for safety." Devona's eyebrow shot up her forehead, his word choice had stunned her into silence. "There are rumors going around that a healer going by your description has been seen in the mountains. Solveig has sent men to look for you." And just like that, her entire body went numb. This news was horrifying for her since… Since Solveig is Halvor's only son and the man who abused her for so many years. In truth, he was the main reason she ran away.

"It's your job, to keep him far away from me. That was part of our agreement!"

"You have only yourself to blame."

"Excuse me?" She could not believe he was actually shifting the guilt to her.

"You have not exactly been keeping a low profile. Four hunters have gone missing and the people in Kollavik have been the source of the rumors after you saved those three children from the plague."

"They are paranoid Gizur, I was not going to let those boys die because of their parents' ignorance," Devona scoffed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

She did not see the back-hand coming fast enough. Before she understood what was happening, his knuckles collided with her cheek sending her head in a violent snap to the side. The sting of the slap was far less prominent than the sore feeling that spiraled from the point of impact. It took Devona to comprehend that he struck her.

"Are you incapable of keeping your mouth shut for more than a minute," he growled, his features contorted into a sneer and a dark fire burned in his eyes. She did not respond. Recognizing this anger all too well. His patience with her was always spread thin when she argued too much.

"Good," Gizur approved of her silence. "Now, understand this." He leaned in to whisper his next warning, "if you want my continued to protection, you're going to have to… Offer me something more in return." Devona tensed the moment his hand clasped her shoulder than slid down her arm. She wanted to scream, kick him in the gut and run. "Something only you can give."

"You always offer this Gizur," she struggled to speak through her teeth, "and each time I deny you. I am not changing my mind today." His fingers dug into her forearm and he laughed sadistically. She winced slightly, closing her eyes so she would not have to look at him.

"I have given you freedom, betrayed my people for you. Do you think that anyone else would have covered up that mess you made two years ago!?" His voice rose with his fury and his grip tightened further.

"I am not free of you Gizur," Devona admitted. "You won't allow it."

"You're right, I will never let you go."

Gizur had heard men of simple intelligence use such words on their lovers before. But what he had with Devona, was not love. It was obsession. An interest he had contracted the day he saw her. So fragile, on the brink of tears. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her looks were exotic and so different from all the other plain women he had encountered all his life.

"It would be such a simple thing to just give yourself to me Little Eir," he cooed, releasing her arm and reaching for her breast.

Devona growled like a frightened animal, forcing the unwelcome hand out of the way and drew her knife on him, pressing the edge of the blade to his throat. Her evergreen eyes were boiling with hatred, the gold spikes reminding him of flames. His thugs did not see her attack, only that in half a second their boss was being held at knife point. They were too afraid to grab her since she was clearly the one with the advantage. With one swipe of her wrist, she would slit Gizur's wretched throat and end it all. End the fear of being caught or being taken by him once and for all.

She pressed in close so he was the only one who could hear what she said, "I have done enough to earn your silence, and I will continue to satisfy our agreement. But get this through your thick head, right now," the blade scraped against his artery but did not break the skin, "I will never give myself to you."

Gizur loved it when she got this feisty, it showed that she still had that same spirit he saw in her five years ago. Halvor and Solveig did not believe there was something more special about this girl than her looks, but he saw it.

"The offer will always stand, Little Eir," he assured with a soft laugh.

"You're disgusting," she scoffed, shoving him as hard as she could so he was a safe distance away. "Are we done now?"

"Not quite," he adjusts his clothing and brushed out wrinkles on his sleeves, "I must know the name of the man in your house before you leave."

"I don't know the man's name. I prefer to keep these encounters brief and anonymous."

"Hmm," his brownish black eyes roamed over her, searching for any sign of deception. Devona was unsure if she had convinced him. "Alright, but it would help if you did figure it out."

"Why?"

"To ease my conscience of course." Gizur smirked wickedly. "If he ever discovered your true identity, your life would be at risk. And I would not want to lose you now."

She shivered at his overly intimate words and said, "He will be gone in a week or two Gizur, so don't bother worrying about him too long." Devona quickly left the house and slammed the door behind her. She grabbed Freydis' reins before rushing away from him and that house. She rushed to the center of town and the general store, so focused on getting home that she did not even notice the state of the town or the dirty looks people gave her. There was nothing she wanted more than to just ignore them and that bastard.

But their was something about their conversation she kept repeating in her head. What if Bjorn actually found out who she really was? Would he try to kill her? She surprisingly wanted to believe that he wouldn't but at the end of the day, she was a Saxon slave. Nothing would change that fact.

Devona stepped inside the store and sighed to see the wife standing at the counter and not her husband Kjartan. Olga was not very fond of Devona for many different reasons, each one she did not care to think about at this time.

"What do you want?" The older woman questioned, her dislike not strong enough to miss out on a sale.

"Clothes, preferable ones that can handle long journeys."

Olga knelt down and picked out three small shirts and two pairs of pants that would fit the lean hunter, "Would you like boots as well?"

"Yes," she nodded, grasping the money purse she had just recently acquired, "but those are too small."

"Excuse me?" Olga was not used to being wrong, so the fact this girl was doing just that irritated her like nothing else.

"I need clothes fit for a six foot tall man, he's muscular and very broad in the shoulders. I'd say his foot size would be about ten to ten and a half inches." The older woman's eyebrows shot up at both Devona's request for such garments when she has never seen the huntress with a man before, and she had heard about how a man's foot size was a good judgement of other parts of the male anatomy. "Can you do it?"

"Of course," she agreed, eyeing Devona once more before gathering all the items that were requested.

 ** _**Time Skip**_**

A day and a half passed by far too slowly for Bjorn's liking. He attempted to keep himself busy with the chores Laila had given to him but he ran out of things to do long before the first day was even over. Cooking and cleaning barely made a dent in the hours and there was not much else he could do what with his leg. His sleep was still being tortured with images of Thorunn's death and each time he woke up from the nightmare his heart broke all over again.

In the morning of the second day he had attempted to hobble outside if only to get a breath of fresh air. The medicine numbed most the pain, but he still hissed and cursed for the effort of making it to the entrance He stood in the doorway and looked out over the white frozen landscape. Bjorn was in awe at the beauty in front of him. Winter was a constant worry for farmers and an annoyance for warriors. No crops could be grown and fjords were turned to ice. Which is probably why he had never truly looked at the winter landscape before. But now, there was something about it that soothed him. The simplicity and purity of the color white made him feel safe. As if no one could touch him so long as he stayed on the mountain among the snow.

But his savior was adamant about getting him out of her house as fast as possible. One day he would have to go back to Kattegat and face his family and friends. This sanctuary he had discovered was not permanent, and he could not ask her if it could be. It wouldn't be right.

He closed the door to conserve the heat from the fire then sat back down at the dining table where he had abandoned a whittling project the day before. It was just a way to relieve his boredom, he had no idea what he was doing. Just scraping at the piece of wood over and over again to keep his hands busy.

Bjorn had been sitting for only twenty minutes when the front door was forced open and his host trudged into the room. She collapsed onto one of the chairs and groaned in pain. Her head lolled back into an awkward position but she seemed alright with it.

"I have the biggest fucking headache right now," she complained, hand resting on her forehead in a dramatic pose. "That bitch at the shop would not stop giving me dirty looks when I told her I was buying for a man. Is it so hard to believe I can have a member of the opposite sex in my house?"

Bjorn barely managed to contain a snort, covering his laughter with a question, "I take it your trip did not go well?"

"No," she shook her head with a groan, "I could not stand to be there for longer than I had to so I did not even get a chance to sleep. I would take a nap but this chair is not going to be good to my back."

"Then why not take the bed?" he suggested. "I am not using it right now and it is yours after all."

"Nah, you're awake and I have to make sure you don't burn my house down," she dismissed the idea immediately with a wave of her hand.

"You trusted me enough to leave!"

Devona chuckled weakly and her gentle smile managed to leak onto her lips, "Good point, but it's still too early for sleep." Forcing herself to her feet, she grudgingly brought in all of the spoils that she bought in town. Her muscles were very keen to make a fool out of her by stumbling this way and that. Her eyes continued to droop closed each time she took a break from the work. Bjorn kept insisting she get some sleep but had no luck so far in convincing her.

"It's nice to see that you survived without me for a day," she teased off-handedly, catching herself on the table when her legs buckled under her weight.

"Laila," he chastised, "go to bed. You're no use to anyone half asleep."

"Still on that are you," she said, stretching her back muscles as she spoke. "I told you I'm fine. Exhaustion is nothing new to me, I can handle it."

"I swear by all the Gods woman, if you pass out on the floor I cannot carry you to bed myself."

"The sheets probably smell like you, I don't want to stink of body odor and-" she stumbled over what else to say, her mind not working at its usual quick pace due to the sleep deprivation, "whatever else a man smells like."

"Ha ha," Bjorn laughed mockingly. "I'm sure you'll still appreciate closing your eyes for a few minutes no matter what the bed smells like."

Devona tripped over her feet for the umpteenth time and fell right into Bjorn's unsuspecting body. The force of her fall pushed his right side into the edge of the table and he groaned in surprise. He was thankful that it was not the injured part of his abdomen that got punched into the table but his ribs did not appreciate it at all. His hands securely held her to him so she would not land on the floor.

"Oh shit," she cursed, using his shoulders as her stable surface to lift herself off of him, an apologetic look covered her face, "sorry about that. My feet are obviously trying to kill me today." They both laughed awkwardly, unsure how to handle the sudden close proximity. He noticed that same aroma of vanilla and mint lingered in her hair but it was far sweeter than the pillows

"It's fine," he said, averting his eyes from her. Ten more seconds passed before Devona was brave enough to stand on her own. "Can you please just go to bed. I'll wake you for dinner that way you won't feel like you wasted a day."

"Alright, alright. If it will get you to stop nagging me I'll go take a nap."

"Thank you."

"Whatever makes you happy," she said jokingly then walked behind the partitioning wall. He heard her body plop itself clumsily onto the mattress and adjust herself for a few seconds before it all went quiet. But this type of silence was much preferable than yesterday's. At least he could feel another presence in the room other than his own. If he listened hard enough, he could actually hear her soft even breaths as she slept.

He grinned at his victory and returned to his whittling, trying to forget her scent or at the very least pretend like he didn't want more of it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Note: Sorry about the epic delay, end of the year school work has been keeping me busy. I should have a more consistent posting record for the summer.**

 **And for those of you who like listening to music while you read, listen to the song "Coming Undone" by: My Darkest Days. It was my inspiration for the chapter title and the mood of the chapter itself. Enjoy and please leave reviews!**

 **WARNING: Contains imagery of sexual assault. Read carefully.**

Chapter 8: Coming Undone

 _Devona will never forget his laughter no matter how long she lives. That sickening chuckle Solveig used when he knew he was going to win. His voice surrounded her and was getting louder every second. She searched and searched for the source of the laughter so she could run in the opposite direction. Far away from him._

 _Through the thick curtain of trees and bramble, a shadow formed into his familiar silhouette. His thick arms, barrel chest, and mighty shoulders were far too close for comfort and they were charging towards her fast._

 _Her legs launched her_ _forward_ _but it was nowhere near swift enough. It seemed that every twist and shortcut she took through the woods was met with greater speed from her assailant. There was nowhere to hide, no suitable shadow to disappear into just to catch her breath. Devona tried to scream for help but her voice was useless, lost to her. Fear choked its way from the pit of her stomach, seeping into her heart and mind. There was no one who could save her._

"No," she whined in her sleep. Bjorn's head rose from its hunched position and turned towards her bedroom. She had been silent for so long he hadn't even noticed that she had woken up.

 _She ran for as long as she could, not paying attention to where her feet landed until her toe got caught on a root and toppled forward. Her body was caught in a pair of arms that were not there a few moments ago. When Devona looked up and saw Gizur's lecherous eyes and smile, she fought against his grip with little success._

 _"Calm down little Eir," he cooed, his fingers digging deeper into her skin till he was causing her pain. "I'm not the one you should be running from." Devona looked over her shoulder and once again opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. Solveig was standing right behind her, looking down on her with cruelty marring his broken face. Every detail materialized right in front of her eyes. Down to the scar that dripped from his eye to his jaw and a serpent tattoo on his neck. Despite his smile, there was no mercy in the way he stalked forward like a beast ready to take the kill._

 _His hardened hands took a fistful of her hair in between his fingers and yanked. Forcing her to her feet and away from Gizur. The smaller Viking raised his arms in surrender to his new master. Leaning against a nearby tree and patiently watched the events unfold._

"Stop," she begged aloud, Bjorn hobbled into the room and what he saw froze him in place. He had never witnessed someone fighting through a night terror and he hoped he would never have to again. Devona was writhing and twisting on the bed as if she was trying to get free from someone's grasp. "STOP!" Her cries were increasingly loud and he was clueless as to what she was enduring in her dream.

 _Solveig's deep guffaw rolled through her ears bringing back dozens of memories she had locked firmly away. He let go of her ponytail and shoved her to the ground before quickly crawling on top of her. His legs had managed to separate her around him and he wasted no time removing her shirt and belt. Devona swung a futile fist at his face but that only made him laugh even more. Taking both of her wrists into one hand, pinned them above her head and continued his work without interruption Grimy nails dragging along her flesh as tore off her clothing._

"Please no!" Bjorn was scared for her beyond reason and rushed to her side. At a loss for anything else to do, he grasped her shoulders and shook her hard.

"Wake up Laila! It's just a nightmare!" Devona's arms flailed violently trying to push away phantom hands that were not his. "Laila!" His voice is what released her from the nightmare, but the fear and rage were still coursing through her blood. She roared in a ferocious tone and pulled out her dagger, clutching the collar of his shirt to pull him down to her level. The sharp iron edge of the blade pressed onto the flesh of his throat, ready to slice the carotid artery with one flick of the wrist. Her eyes were wild like an injured animal. A soft sheen of sweat soaked her forehead and neck so her hair was clinging to her skin.

It took her half a minute to realize the person in front of her was not Solveig.

Bjorn stayed perfectly still for the knife but also because he feared that any wrong movement or word might send her back into whatever horror she was reliving. He had already let go of her shoulders from his attempts to wake her and waited as Devona's breathing slowed into calm but ragged inhales. Recognition entered her face and so did grief. Their faces were only three inches apart and she could clearly see that it was Bjorn who was beside her and not Solveig. There was no way to mistake the two when she was this close to him.

Solveig's eyes were hazel colored leaning more towards brown whereas Bjorn's irises were bright blue. Bjorn's features were much kinder than that monster's by miles. His skin was scarless and had slight evidence of beard growth. His mouth was small but used to smiling. And his light blonde hair had been shaved off both sides of his head, growing long from the crown of his skull and pulled back into a what she would call a "wolf-tail".

There was no similarities between this man and Solveig. Guilt washed over her fear and she dropped both hands into her lap along with her gaze. The knife had slipped through her fingers and crashed to the ground with a clang. Bjorn straightened his spine so he was standing straight up rubbing his neck tenderly to make sure she hadn't scratched his skin with the blade.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled her apology even though her hands were still shaking. Tears brimmed the lines of her eyelids eager to spill and stain her cheeks.

"Bad dream?" His question was completely rhetorical, but he could not think of anything better to say.

Devona nodded, "The worst." Shivers rocked her muscles setting the tears free along with a weak whimpering noise from her throat. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face against her legs to hide her crying. Bjorn reached out to touch her if only to show her she was not alone but hesitated just as his finger pads hovered over her hair. He had no reason to show her comfort and yet he felt he should. Despite everything, he truly wished to ease this suffering for her. If only for a minute.

So instead of touching her, he eased himself onto the edge of the bed and sat beside her. At first she shied away from Bjorn, curling herself into a tighter ball to contain the swirling emotions in her heart. She did not want to come undone in his presence, refused to show anymore weakness. Devona forced her breathing to slow and steady itself but occasionally her inhales would catch in her throat.

She mumbled these words under her breath so Bjorn could not hear, "He can't hurt you anymore. No more." Repeating the phrase a dozen times as a reminder, though it did little to slow the shaking.

He didn't say anything or ask if he could help like other people would do and she was grateful for that. He understood that trying to make her talk would only make matters worse.

Neither was sure how long they sat like that, listening to each other's breathing and appreciating their presence. Devona gathered enough strength to wipe away her tears and lift her head up out of hiding. She let her neck fall backwards so her skull smacked into the headboard as she continued to breathe. Bjorn glanced her way and his heart clenched at the sight of her. Her eyes were tinted red for the crying and something about the way her mouth was set in a grimace and her eyebrows were furrowed proved to him that she was barely holding on to sanity in that moment. He didn't want to see her like that, it hurt his very soul to see Devona in such agony.

"Are you cooking something?" Devona suddenly questioned, nose sensing a foreign smell in the house.

"Oh," he remembered what he had left roasting on the fire and prayed to Freyr that dinner was not ruined. "I took those two squirrels you left out and put them on the fire for us. I should probably go check on them."

"I'll do it," she offered, jumping to her feet and vaulting towards the hearth fire. Bjorn was still fighting to his feet by the time she had pulled the cooked meat off the spit and started setting the table. He let her do what she had to, walking towards the bench without putting too much weight on his broken leg and not saying a word all the while.

Devona had placed one squirrel on each of their plates alongside a half loaf of bread and something that can only be described as gruel. A white, pasty side dish that tasted like a wet dish cloth most of the time. It was not a pretty meal to look at but it would keep them fed for another night.

She handed Bjorn a cup of water as well before sitting across from him. Her fingers picked apart the meat and bread, choosing the most appetizing pieces before eating it. Apparently he had put some seasoning on the squirrel hide and it improved the flavor by leaps and bounds. There was rosemary, garlic, and sage as well but only a pinch. Ingredients she used daily in her medicines.

"You used my herb supplies to flavor your food, huh?"

"Was I not supposed to?"

"Not really," she grumbled, stuffing a chunk of the rib meat into her mouth before throwing him a judgmental look. Bjorn sighed and was just about to say sorry when she came back with, "but it tastes good so I'll allow it."

He chuckled weakly and said, "Glad to hear it."

They ate the rest of their dinner in silence, the light of the fire and several scattered candles the only illumination in the entire cabin. The sun had long gone and the half moon did little to push back the darkness.

Bjorn frequently shot her looks and more than half the time she caught him watching her. He valiantly attempted to keep his focus centered on his food and not Devona, but roasted squirrel and gruel could not offer much in the way of distraction. That moment where she screamed and begged for someone to stop kept replaying in his mind. The roaring fire of loathing in her eyes when she first saw him above her. She drew her weapon without hesitation and was ready to kill, no reservations at all. He was still pretty shaken up because of it, so he could not bring himself to just ignore what had happened like she was trying to do.

When Devona had caught him staring, it was obvious what he was thinking. 'What did I do to end up in this crazy woman's house?', at least that is what she thought was running through his head.

Now that she was thinking more clearly and her anxieties leashed back to her heart, Devona pitied the man sitting in front of her. Having to witness her in such a state had broken any semblance of normal they were building between each other. The banter from this morning seemed so distant now and ten times more difficult to achieve again. She sighed softly at the fact, her shoulders slouching deeper till her upper body was hunching over the table edge.

He naturally had questions, but each one was impossible to answer. Devona could not bring herself to talk about Solveig. That is how deeply she was scarred by him, and Bjorn could never understand that.

Nevertheless, she had to put an end to his curious, worried puppy eyes, "If you have something to say, just spit it out already."

Bjorn was caught off guard by her harsh tone and only managed to say in reply, "I'm sorry?"

"I can tell you're waiting for the perfect moment to start interrogating me," she noted, tearing a piece of bread from her roll and swallowing the chunk whole, "now's the time." He did not say anything for a while, finding it extremely difficult to choose the proper words to respond with;

"I assumed if you wanted to talk about it, you would," Bjorn explained. He gnawed at his loaf of rye bread and swallowed two mouthfuls before he saw a smile on her face.

"Once again Bjorn, you have proven to be a lot smarter than most men," she complimented, her soft chuckle burdened by pain. "Why are you so damn good?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "I do not think of myself as good Laila. I just… try to do the right thing I suppose."

"Well that makes you better than most men," she assured. "And thank you."

"For?"

"For staying with me." Bjorn's heart skipped a beat without his consent, her response so unlike her and yet it excited him to hear it. Did she really appreciate his presence that much?

"No problem," he replied.

"And for not pestering me about," she struggled to find the appropriate words to describe her nightmare and could only come up with, "what I was dreaming about."

"Well, about that," Bjorn began, scratching the back of his neck and averting his gaze from hers.

"And you were doing so well."

"I'm sorry, but if I'm going to have to wake you and take a knife to the throat when I do, should I not know why?"

"It's… it's too hard to explain," she sighed, fingers wrapping tighter around her cup. Bjorn understood that feeling better than Devona could ever imagine.

The ache in his heart burst from inside his chest, reminding him exactly what he felt down to the pangs of regret and the hundred pounds of guilt.

He did not understand why he felt compelled to say what he did, but the words left his mouth before he could think about it, "I lost someone a few months ago. I loved her." Devona looked at Bjorn wide eyes, shocked that he was sharing something so personal. "I did want to die, but perhaps the Gods do have something planned for me. And I know that it includes you somehow."

"How could you possibly know I'm apart of your fate?"

"Call it whatever you like, intuition, gut-feelings, but why else would we have meet?" His lips were turned slightly upward into a soft grin and the moment she saw it her heartbeat sped up to an uncomfortable pace. Devona's breath was taken away by the purity of his smile and for a moment she even dared to think it was charming. "I suppose that's why I want to know you. So that I can begin to understand what I am meant to do next."

She nodded in understanding, even if she found the idea of planned destinies ludicrous. Men are in charge of their own lives and each decision they make is their choice to decide.

"I would not put your hopes on me Bjorn. I don't think your fate completely lies with," she chuckled nervously, still not able to look away from his handsome face.

"Who knows for sure," he shrugged, "but I intend to find out." His grin widened and yet it did not completely reach his eyes. Devona could still see the sadness lingering in his blue eyes. It seemed to darken his entire face. She actually felt concerned for him, an emotion she has not experienced in a long time.

When she worked as Halvor's healer, in the back of her mind she was wishing for her patients to just die. She did her work as told but never truly fought to save the lives of those warriors. And if she thought about it, when Devona first met Bjorn she cared for him in ways that she had never done with any man except her father. Worrying herself half to death about his health and safety every day. It was so unlike her to be this concerned for a Northman.

Perhaps her growing fondness for the man in front of her is why she said this, "I was sixteen when **he** assaulted me." Bjorn listened silently, waiting for her to find the words to push through this terrible memory. "He would not stop, no matter how many times I said he was hurting me. He came to my room every couple of nights and do it all over again. Every time I go to Kollavik, it reminds me of him. The citizens loved him, and knew nothing of his disgusting desires."

"Gods above," he spoke softly. "I am so sorry."

"You had nothing to do with it, you should not be the one apologizing."

"Did you make that bastard pay?" Bjorn knew that if she hadn't, and he had a chance of meeting the man, he would make sure that his punishment was severe.

"More or less," Devona said vaguely, staring at the table. They sat quietly for a while, unsure of what else to say after such a grim conversation. It felt as if something had changed between them that night. Both knew such disturbing facts about the other that there was no way they could go back to what they had. A simple rapport of sarcasm and indifference. Their feelings toward each other had slowly become an unlikely friendship, but they still had many miles to go before either of them understood exactly what fate was preparing for these two. At least there was comfort in knowing she trusted him, and he trusted her. That is as good a start as any.

"It's late," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "you should get some sleep."

"What about you?"

Devona shook her head, "I spent too much time resting today, and after that nightmare I am nowhere near ready to sleep again."

He recalled how after his dream of Thorunn's death, he could not sleep for a while either. Even now he still had trouble trusting his mind not to conjure her image every time he closed his eyes.

"But don't mind me," she continued, unaware of where his thoughts had wandered to, "go to bed." Bjorn obeyed, detecting the subtle hint that she wished to be alone now. He limped the short distance to the entrance of the bedroom and peered over his shoulder.

"Good night."

"Sleep well," she said with a gentle smile.

With that said, Devona was finally alone with her thoughts. She put her head into her hands and forced herself to calm down. For a moment, she regretted telling Bjorn what she had about Solveig. Her attempt to cover up the important details probably worked well since Bjorn did not figure out who she was referring to. The only problem was the more he knew, the more she put herself at risk of being discovered. She should have heeded Gizur's warning and kept her mouth shut and not add to the rumors about her.

Unfortunately for her, this realization was several minutes too late. But what's done is done.

Making as little noise as possible, she grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows and went outside. She trekked past the stables and set up her hay target against a tree about fifty feet from where she now stood. Knocking an arrow and pulling back the string was child's play, even though the bow had a draw weight of over sixty pounds. Devona released the string and the arrow whisked through the air too quick for the naked eye to follow.

It landed two centimeters from dead center and she mumbled, "Not good enough." For three hours straight she shot her twenty worn arrows at the target over and over again till her brain shut out all the bad memories. Imagining Solveig's ghastly face at the center of the target. It helped her aim straight and true. Each time her arrow would land in what she pictured was his eye or nose, a wicked grin would leak onto her face and she laughed. If she ever saw that son of a whore again, it would not be like in her dream where she was defenseless and crying for help. He would be the one begging for mercy next time.


	9. Chapter 9

**A thousand apologies for being so late :(. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Leave a Review and tell me what you think.**

 **Chapter 9: An Honest Word**

Bjorn woke up an hour after day had broken and the sun was just about to crest over the trees. He could hear the familiar snapping sound of Devona's bow string from outside. Each shot was made quicker than the last that he started to wonder if she was even taking the time to aim anymore. His curiosity dragged him out of bed and led him out of the cabin. He shouldered a new black fur cloak before leaving the house, noticing for the first time how well the gift fit across his shoulders. He had to remember to thank her for buying him new clothes and supplies in the village at some point today.

Stepping through the door and following her path in the snow was quite easy due to the deep treks she left behind. Bjorn walked in the footprints to the edge of the clearing. Devona's familiar figure dashed to and fro about the trees in a practiced routine. Ducking under low-hanging branches and twisting out of the way of oaks and pines before she could crash into them. Five haystacks sat amongst the brush, each shot clean through with three to five arrows in the center mass. There was no doubting her skill, but actually seeing the accuracy of her work reminded him to be cautious with his words.

His injured leg forced him to take a seat on a cleaved tree stump, the limb not able to bear his weight for a long while

Devona did not notice Bjorn's arrival, continuing in her course through the forest. She pressed her back against a great white oak to conceal herself against a pretend enemy. Peering round the trunk she calculated the distance between herself and the target. Forty feet, maybe forty-five. The eastern wind would force the arrow to the left so her aim would have to adjust for the force of nature.

Nocking an arrow with one of the three fletchings missing, she drew the string back to her mouth and held the string for barely two seconds before releasing. In the blink of an eye the arrowhead was burrowed into the target. Joining four of its companions, the shaft humming against two other arrows. She nodded in approval before sprinting across the field to retrieve the projectiles. The snow crunched under her weight with every step leaving a noticeable trail in her wake. Her feet found an old track she left behind, worn from previous races that she found easier footing with than fresh shin deep snow. She placed the arrows in her quiver then retraced her steps to previous targets.

Almost ten minutes had passed before Bjorn gathered the courage to say something, "Nice shooting!"

Devona twisted her body to face him, a delighted smile spreading on her face, "How long have you been watching?"

"Not long," he admitted.

Devona jogged towards him, slinging her longbow onto her back. Once at his side, he noticed that there was a fair amount of sweat on her face which made several strands of her brown hair cling to her forehead. The rest was tied into a tight ponytail that swung back and forth as she walked.

"You look happy today," he remarked with a short, breathy laugh. Her smile was still plastered onto her lips and the gold in her eyes seemed to gleam brighter when paired with that grin.

"I am. There's something about training at the crack of dawn that really brightens the spirit," she said rolling her neck to relieve some of the tension in her shoulders.

"It looks like you don't really require the practice." His compliment sounded genuine which made it easier for her to swallow the praise.

"Thank you, but it cannot hurt to keep my skills sharp. It's so easy to lose yourself up here."

Bjorn nodded, taking in the clear blue sky and the white boughs of trees, "It's difficult to believe these woods are dangerous when it looks this peaceful."

"In the summer it's even more beautiful," she mused, standing in front of him with her eyes turned upwards like his. "So many shades of green, so much life surrounding you. The faint trickle of the stream over there," she pointed to a frozen pond a couple dozen yards to her right. The stream she spoke of was cloaked in snow and ice but he could definitely imagine how tranquil it could be once the season had passed.

"And the wild plants and animals always keep me busy. Brewing medicines and selling animal skins is quite profitable," she continued, her breaths turning to steam in mid air.

"It certainly has its charms," he agreed. "I have always wanted to visit a place like this."

"Really? I thought you could not stand being away from civilization?"

"Not for years, no. But I have wanted to test myself in the wild. See if I can survive on my own. Discover what is essential to life. I was too quick to judge you before."

"We both were," she compromised, focusing her gaze on his face. Her brows furrowed and lips set into a determined line to prepare herself for what she wanted to say next. "I-... I apologize for what I did last night. You were not responsible for what happened to me but I still compared you to brutes you hardly resemble. It was unfair."

"It's alright," he attempted to reason.

"No it is not." Her insistence was met with a harsh look upon her face. Her fists were tensed, wishing to do more than lie uselessly at her sides, "I only ask that you can forgive me."

In truth, Bjorn did not see anything to forgive. He was the one who frightened her after all. He kept pushing her to speak with him even though he was poking at old wounds that she rather not remember. But, seeing the integrity in her eyes, he felt compelled, no… desired to give her what she wanted.

"Forgiven."

"Good," she sighed happily, lips perking up at the corners now that the hard part was over.

"And can **you** forgive me for sticking my nose into places it doesn't belong?"

Devona nodded and said, "Forgiven." He did not need to ask, but the sentiment behind it was not missed. "I was acting rather suspicious though. Anyone would be curious." It was somewhat of a relief to hear they were both sorry and forgiving of what had occurred over the past few weeks. Perhaps there was some hope for their odd friendship. It was a might difficult to not feel connected after near death experiences and sharing secrets. It would be so much simpler for them to a least be curteous towards each other.

"Now there is one other thing I wanted to discuss with you," she added, brushing her hair behind her ear. Bjorn had realized that she always played with her hair like that when she felt nervous, a slight tick to distract the hands from what she had to say.

"Alright."

"Since you're stay in my home is going to be a long one I feel it my responsibility to set a boundary so that we don't feel the need to strangle one another in the future."

"And that is?" he wondered.

"That no matter what question is asked of the other, let an honest answer be received. Naturally we have secrets, but I find myself feeling uncomfortable with the thought of blatantly lying to you."

"I know what you mean."

"Great, then you can ask me anything and I swear I will answer truthfully if I can. But if I cannot… leave it alone."

"I understand completely." They shared a brief smile, a Cheshire grin only exchanged between two partners in crime who shared the strangest of bonds.

Devona had realized many hours ago that it would be impossible to keep being cold towards the young Viking. A part of her, that grew each day, desperately wanted to speak freely with him. Confess what her masters had forced her into so that she could perhaps let go of those memories. Just by telling him last night that she had been raped lifted a weight from her shoulders. To explain how that was possible would take a lifetime to understand but Devona yearned to feel free of the pain all the more. But the larger portion of her mind reminded her that if Bjorn discovered she was a Saxon, odds are he would grow to hate her. She could not endure that, not with him

Just this once, she wanted to keep him in the dark, not because it was none of his business, but because she was frightened what would happen to them if he knew.

"Do you know how to use this?" Her question came out of nowhere and she held out her bow to him.

"Of course," he immediately responded even though his skill level was basic compared to her mastery.

"Do you know how to use it well?"

The follow-up revealed his lack of knowledge since he didn't want to lie to her with something so simple, "I am better with an axe and shield truth be told."

"I figured, considering your size and stature I would find it hard to believe you are a stealth fighter." Devona pulled the string back in a dry draw to test its weight then eased the weapon back into resting position.

Bjorn tilted his head curiously and said, "That's your reasoning?"

"Would you think me a berserker at first glance?"

His eyes roamed her body and nodded in agreement, "Probably not."

"Glad to know your sight is still good," she teased. "Anyway, when your leg is fully healed perhaps I'll teach you the proper way to use a bow."

"Who taught you?"

"My father."

"Where is he now?" he asked, testing the boundaries of their new arrangement.

"Dead," she stated bluntly. Her expression remained neutral, concealing any emotion she had about the subject. It was simply another fact in her life, nothing to cry over in front of her guest.

"Oh, my apologies I did not mean to-"

"It's alright, no need for apologies you did not know."

"What about your mother?" While she addressed the matter of her father with rationality, her mother gave her pause. He could actually see her expression fall and her eyes darken.

"I have no idea where she is. She abandoned me and my father three days after I was born."

Bjorn could not conceal the shock, eyebrows rising up his forehead and mouth hanging open to create an 'o' shape, "That's horrible, I am so sorry," he sympathized.

"I am not scarred by it Bjorn. Any mother who would willingly leave her child does not deserve to be one. My father raised me just as well on his own." Devona believed this to be true ever since she learned how to hate. She had seen great mothers and wicked ones, but at least they stayed to raise their children. "What about your parents?"

"Happily married for over thirteen years... until my father slept with some Princess so my mother divorced him."

"Any siblings?"

"I had a sister but she died a long time ago. Now I have four half brothers from my father's new wife. And you?"

"Only child, my father never could remarry after my mother." She sat beside him and leaned against his shoulder. Neither of them saw a pressing need to return indoors for this conversation. After so long in the stifling cabin, Bjorn did not wish to return to it after breathing the clean air. "Who was your father to marry a Princess? Royalty would never demean themselves by sleeping with simple warriors or farmers."

For a moment he considered lying, but his vow to remain truthful left him little choice. He was not a fugitive so why should he hide his identity?

"He was an Earl, now he is a King."

"The only King ruling these parts with a Princess wife is Ragnar Lothbrok." The facts clicked in her head simultaneously, his identity revealed and quite extraordinary to a born peasant. "You're saying your the son of the most famous man in Norway and Scandinavia?!" Her shock was cleverly contained, her eyes widened only slightly and voice raising in tone by one note.

"Yes."

"His eldest son would be… Bjorn Ironside. Gods above, HA HA, I've been living with a Prince!" Her laughter was unexpected so Bjorn could only watch her giggle and convulse at the realization.

"I didn't realize my name was so amusing."

"You're fame has reached even my ears, which is saying something." Once she had stopped chuckling long enough to take a breath, a mischievous glimmer appeared in her eyes and she continued with her praises, "People say you can't be killed. That any sword that touches you breaks in half. Some even say that you are protected by Odin." Her voice was whimsical as she repeated every myth surrounding his earned name if a little mocking as well when she mentioned Bjorn's possible relation to the All Father.

"Considering a pack of wolves nearly ripped me in half, I would say that all these rumors have been proven untrue," he countered, a smile sneaking onto his face.

"At least none of your countrymen saw it right? The legend shall live on then," she jested, bumping his arm with hers earning a full grin.

"Lucky me."

"So will you be king one day?"

"I hope not, I am not suited for a throne."

"What makes you say that?"

He thought about the answer for some time, staring off into space as his mind tried to gather enough sense for a suitable response, "... Remember last night, when I said that I lost the woman I love." Devona nodded, picturing his broken face clear as day. "She died because of my stupidity, and if I cannot protect what is most valuable to me then how am I supposed to rule a nation?"

Devona sat perfectly still and allowed him a few moments to contain himself. His anger and heartbreak made every muscle beneath his skin tense. "She must have meant a lot to you."

"More than I realized."

"What was her name?"

It had been months since he had spoken her name and trying to say it now was more painful than he thought possible, "Thorunn."

"She is lucky to have someone like you remember her."

They spoke softly to each other as the sun arched through the sky. Laughing and comforting each other when needed. Even though their cheeks were red for the cold and their hands numb, neither wished to go back to the house just yet. This was the first time both of them had felt entirely comfortable around each other. Neither pressed into matters that were best left alone and understood that some parts of their lives must stay private. For now at least.

Devona did not reveal her past as a slave nor any information about her captors. Anytime he asked a question about her whereabouts post her father's death she simply said that she traveled from place to place in service to the Earl as a Healer till she bought this house. Which was not entirely a lie since her work as Earl Halvor's healer did force her to travel all throughout his lands. The only part of her tale that was veiled in deception was how she came by the cabin.

In truth, she found it abandoned and claimed the house as hers. When the original owner appeared, he was not pleased in the slightest that a "Saxon bitch" had invaded his home. They fought and Torvold son of Tormund was never heard from again.

"I have chores to do, you should head back inside," she finally reasoned, rising to her feet and rubbing her palms together to regain feeling.

"Are you sure I cannot help?"

"If your leg was not broken I would take you up on that, alas you are incapable of walking and that will only slow me down."

She helped Bjorn inside, holding his hand with one arm and supporting his weight with the other wrapped around his waist. The pain in his leg was still sharp and unforgiving but Devona's magic had certainly worked. A couple weeks ago he could barely move.

Devona headed back out, smiling to herself softly at the relief she felt inside. When was the last time she felt so safe? She could not come up with an answer which by itself was telling.

Bjorn was left sitting alone on the dining room bench, carving runes into the table to relieve the boredom. During this mind-numbing task, his eye caught the sight of a worn leather book under her work bench. He had never seen a book in Norway before since the Northman did not have a written language. The only reason Bjorn knew what to call it was because of Athelstan. The priest used to carry a book much larger than this one around his old home and read from it. So he grew rather curious if this book was similar to that of the Saxon man.

He hopped over to the work table ignoring the sharp smell of rosemary and picked up the broken volume. It was very light and made an interesting sound when the pages flipped loosely about in his hand. The spine was worn to bits and the cover held evidence of water damage. She must have had this for years and brought it with her wherever she went.

Bjorn never learned to read so his focus on the ink words was pointless. There were drawings of plants as well but he barely paid them any mind. The writer had spent hours on each page of text, ensuring perfection with every stroke of the quill. It was strangely fascinating to look at.

But the big question in his mind, who taught her how to read the Saxon language?


End file.
